Expectations of Grandeur
by Josephine Sawyer
Summary: It is our choices who make us who we are, but sometimes those choices have already been made for us. Tom is back and has to choose again.
1. Tom Marvolo Riddle

Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Also, when choosing a wand, resources necessary. "Sacred Woods and the Lore of Trees" by Jennifer Smith, found here: was very helpful in the writing of this chapter. 

Author's note: This is an idea I've had for a long time. I tried writing it once, but for lack of planning and foresight (and a few really, really, weak plot devices) it didn't come out nearly the way I intended it to. However, this one has been painstakingly planned and thought out, so I will carry it out to the very end. (Which will be a long very end, I warn you.) Thanks for this first chapter go out to Kavitha, my former beta reader, who helped with wands, Kate, my co-conspirator on inhumanly long original pieces who helped with realism, and the S.S. Gin'n'Tonic over at Fictionalley park, because they are awesome people. 

Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 1: Tom Marvolo Riddle 

Back in the days when Hogwarts was young, Slytherin and the other founders had a falling-out of sorts, and then the not-so- young Salazar Slytherin left the school. But he could not leave without leaving something of himself in the young school – something for his heir to come back to, to differentiate this purest of pure-blooded students. And so, the Chamber of Secrets was born. 

For years it was believed to be a legend, a myth – no one could find it, no one had opened it, and as the years turned into decades and the decades turned into centuries, the knowledge of what was inside dimmed. And it was a millennium before the Chamber was opened again. The monster inside (for it was now unknown; the knowledge of the monster, as well as the chamber, had slipped away with the passing years) lived patiently, calmly, as if waiting for something. And then something came. 

* * * 

Albus Dumbledore slid down into the depths of the tunnel. It had once been wet and algae-covered, but now the cool marble was clean and dry to the touch. He soon reached the bottom of the drop, and, wand ablaze, began his now daily journey into the Chamber of Secrets. 

The girl's toilet would, of course, be put off limits. The ghost would have to be evicted. Dumbledore wasn't fond of evicting ghosts, but the pitiable girl said she could find another place through the network of drainpipes, which, he supposed, was better than nothing. She said she frequented the prefects' bathroom. He would have to have a word with the Head Boy about that. 

The Chamber was now awash with light, and really less formidable than it must have appeared to young Harry, when he came in his second year, and certainly less frightful than it had to have been for little Ginny Weasley. The poor girl – Dumbledore resolved to have her come down there to face her fears. After all, it is very valuable to face one's fears – especially in so easy a way as seeing the warmer, drier, Basilisk free Chamber. He had disenchanted the room, lit it up, and picked apart the ancient network of spells hiding its existence. It was being prepared as a new base of operations for the Order of the Phoenix. 

They could use a meeting place, especially one in Hogwarts. It would make it much easier for Dumbledore to contact them in the case of an emergency – they were, after all, just down the hallway. Quite literally. 

The chamber offered in itself the perfect hiding place; one that would be completely secret from the outside, and yet easily accessible, now that the enchantment on the entrance had been changed to accept a password in English, rather than Parseltongue. 

That had been the hardest part, Dumbledore reasoned. After he had unlocked the Chamber and changed the password, it had all been simple. 

None of which explained the boy lying to the side of Slytherin's statue. 

Yes, there was a boy lying at the side of the monkey-ish Slytherin's feet; a boy who Dumbledore certainly did not expect to be laying there. In fact, Tom Riddle should, under no circumstances, be found anywhere near Hogwarts – he had already graduated and gone on to become the most feared Wizard in history, or at least recent times. 

Severus Snape appeared behind the headmaster. "Albus," he said sternly, "When are you going to wake him up?" he motioned to the sleeping Riddle. "It won't do for him to be here through Order meetings, he's too young." 

Albus considered laughing at the very idea that an older Tom Riddle would be more suitable for attending Order of the Phoenix meetings, but simply said "In due time, Severus," and continued on his business. 

Really, Tom Riddle always bothered Dumbledore. Tom had been a brilliant student – one of the best Hogwarts had known, certainly. He had been a true Slytherin, looking out for himself and little else, absolutely. But as little as Albus Dumbledore had trusted Tom Riddle as a student; he hadn't imagined him to end up Lord Voldemort. Something was missing. 

Tom Riddle might disdain Muggle-born students, he might have an inferiority complex to match his swollen ego, but he certainly wasn't afraid of death. Which is precisely the change Dumbledore saw in him after his fifth year. 

Which was also the reason Dumbledore wasn't altogether surprised to see Tom Riddle's body lying in the chamber of secrets – exactly as he had looked in his fifth year, but without the prefect badge. 

It was some time before Dumbledore broke the spell and woke Tom Riddle. But it was soon enough for the old man who had hoped never to see the proud young Slytherin again. Tom let out a yelp at seeing Dumbledore. "You!" he shouted. "What are you doing here?" 

"I should ask you the same question. What are you doing here?" 

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm waiting it out so as to be ready to finish my Hogwarts training. Waiting until after that maniac diary has been killed by someone more foolhardy and overconfident than I am." Dumbledore blinked. Obviously, this made perfect sense to the young Slytherin. 

Recognition dawned on Tom. "Oh," he said, "You must think I'm Lord Voldemort. That's it, isn't it? Well, I'm not. I'm just Tom Riddle." 

Dumbledore once again blinked. This was an unexpected turn of events – and he wasn't sure he believed Tom. But he motioned for Tom to take a seat at the wooden table he had transported down for the Order. "Perhaps you should explain the death in your fifth year, then?" 

Tom nodded slowly. "That… that all began… I think it was early in my third year. The Head Girl – I forget her last name, it's not really relevant anyway – gave me this Diary. It was supposed to pass down from the most brilliant Slytherin to the most brilliant Slytherin. Of course, none of them had written in it – I could tell from looking, all the pages were blank – but it was, supposedly, this great honour that only people destined for great things got. You know, Head Boy, Minister of Magic, that sort of thing. 

"In any case, I was the youngest student to have gotten it, and many of my housemates envied me horribly for it, but they couldn't deny that I was more clever than they were, so I got to keep the bloody thing. I even wrote my name on the inside cover – that is to say, once I had erased the names of all the other, previous owners. 

"Not much happened after that, for a few years. Well, not much happened for two years – until the diary started talking to me. I rue the day that I answered back to that diary, but I was alone in that blasted orphanage and I had nothing else to do – after all, the children there avoided me like the plague. It was nice to have someone to confide in me, to treat me like a friend for once," he said, and then quickly added, "Not that I enjoyed it overmuch – I never was one for sheepish sentiment." 

"Of course not, Tom," answered Dumbledore. "The child writing – Ginny Weasley?" 

"Yes," Tom responded, and then continued. "Ginny Weasley's innocence and naiveté were like a breath of fresh air to the usual Slytherin cunning and, thereby, jaded-ness. I was shocked. It was addicting, if I think about it correctly. One of the children at the orphanage once got his hands on the matron's alcohol. It was like that – vodka, strong liquor. Once he had taken a sip, there was no amount of beating that could stop him from taking another – and another, and another. I was like that with the diary. Things started to go wrong, during the year, and I was always involved, but I refused to believe it had anything to do with innocent Ginny Weasley. 

"By the time I figured it out, it was too late. It was probably too late for both of us, now that I think about it. I accept the blame for anything that happened to her – I hope she took my advice and left a message to say something had happened, so that someone could help her. It was hard to make much of a protest, when it came down to it." Seeing Dumbledore's confused expression, he explained. "The diary, professor. One moment I would be writing to Ginny in the diary, and she would just sort of… die out. Or I would fall asleep when writing, or something. Hours and hours of my fifth year, I have no memory of. I couldn't really fight that – whatever it was, but it had something to do with the diary – but I could usually, just before everything went dark, write a message or something. 

"Not that it would have helped me, seeing as no one really cared what happened to the Slytherin prefect." He sighed. "In any case, I told her to leave a message, something about the Chamber and so on, before she was going to go into the chamber. Did she leave a message?" He looked innocently concerned for the girl. Dumbledore frowned – the character change was too much for him to handle; one moment, the boy was Lord Voldemort, the next he was worried about the fate of little Ginny Weasley. 

"Yes, she left a message. But all it said was 'her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever,' so I don't see how that fits with your advice." 

"She would have said something like that. She thought it was me possessing her, or some such thing, so she allowed herself more than a little melodrama. I put up with it, of course – but after a short time, telling her to trust me and that I certainly wasn't trying to kill her friends got rather boring. By then I was hooked anyway, so it hardly mattered." 

"I still don't understand," Dumbledore replied at this pause, "how this brings you to the Chamber of Secrets." 

"Don't you see? It's all a parallel of what happened with Ginny Weasley – since you certainly paid more attention to the little Gryffindor than you did me. It figures, you always did play favourites with your Gryffindor pets. I was brought down to the chamber just as she was – and a figure popped out of the Diary." 

"She says that was the last thing she saw – that she would have died had Harry not fought it." 

"Oh, so Harry Potter does exist," Tom laughed. "I was beginning to think he was a fictional character, from her descriptions of his perfection. But I didn't faint off at seeing something come out of the diary, as she did – after all; I was not an 11-year-old girl at the time. I fought it – but I was much weaker than I had ever been; the Diary sucks your life, your energy out of you – and that's how it builds a form in your image. I made a mistake in my spell, and gave the form tangibility – so instead of a spectre, it was a person, my twin, who walked out of the Chamber that day and called himself "Lord Voldemort." 

"I had to feign my death in order to survive – this Diary spectre would have killed me, had it not thought my own spell would do the trick. I put myself into an ageless sleep, to be woken up when someone like you decided to explore the chamber – some time when it was safer for Tom Riddle to continue his schooling." 

"Then you've been here all along?" Dumbledore asked. "Why didn't Harry spot you when he came?" 

"Harry Potter has been into the Chamber of Secrets? That's interesting. Went to save Ginny Weasley, did he?" Dumbledore nodded. "I might have known. I suppose it was rather darker when he came – perhaps he didn't notice me? Who knows; I suppose he's the regular oblivious Gryffindor." 

Dumbledore shook his head, wary. "And why should I trust any of this, Tom? As you said in the beginning, you are Lord Voldemort." 

Tom shook his head avidly. "No, no, _no,_ Dumbledore, you forget in your typical Gryffindor-ish ways; I said you would think I was Lord Voldemort – when in fact I am most certainly not. I'm just an ordinary Slytherin, like any other ordinary Slytherin except, possibly more intelligent, trying to finish his years at Hogwarts without turning into some monstrous Dark Lord. You yourself know the spell I used; or else you couldn't have cast the counter curse. You can tell I've been here for fifty years. You can tell that just by the dust on my robes. If I've been here, how could I be out in the world, attacking Mudbloods and Muggles? Answer me that, and then I'll capitulate." He waited for a response. "Honestly, Dumbledore – if you can tell me how my being here and my being Voldemort coincide, then I will admit you are right and throw myself into Azkaban for you. But you are thoroughly mistaken if you think that I am Lord Voldemort." 

Dumbledore considered a moment. The Slytherin's logic made sense he had to admit. And the more he thought about it, the more he believed Tom's story. "Call me Professor Dumbledore, and follow me. I'll re-enrol you in Hogwarts; that's what you want, isn't it?" 

"Of course," answered Tom. "I won't have to be in Gryffindor, will I?" 

"Dear me, no. I wouldn't wish you upon Harry Potter for anything." 

"Still here, is he? Drop back a year or two?" 

"No, Tom, you have arrived just in time to be in his year." 

The only thing Tom could say was "Lovely." 

* * *

Dumbledore had taken the disgruntled Tom to his office, sat him down, and taken the seat on the other side of the desk, at which Tom had adopted a rather confused expression. "You're headmaster? Whatever happened to old Dippett? I could have sworn he had a few more years in him…" 

Dumbledore's smile vanished. Tom had gotten along much better with Dumbledore's precursor. "Armando Dippett was killed in an attack on the school by Grindelwald." Tom's face blanched slightly. "I succeeded him in this position." 

"Well I could have guessed that," answered Tom. 

There was a pause, neither wizard wanting to continue the conversation – or really knowing how. Dumbledore finally spoke. 

"You shall of course need new school things, and books. I believe we can make you a schedule – but it will take a few hours to find your old records. Most students don't go through 50-year breaks in between their fifth and sixth years, you understand. Before that is done, however, I would recommend you take a new name." 

This shocked Tom. A new name? What was wrong with his current one? "Why a new name?" 

"Simply because your old one is known to a few students here," Dumbledore replied, "And they will not be happy to hear it overmuch. It would be easier on all of us if you started a new identity with your new days at Hogwarts." 

"The people who know my name – who are they?" 

"Ginny Weasley of course, and Harry Potter. I believe Ginny's brother as well and perhaps Hermione Granger… It's of little importance – anyone hearing your old name and recognising it will immediately think of the Dark Lord. That name is not safe." 

Tom sighed. "Fine," he answered, resigned to the fact that it had now come to completely reinventing himself for this new life – something he had never wagered on doing. "Can I at least have time to do research?" 

Dumbledore shook his head. "I must contact your head of house momentarily, and I have to have a name to tell him – before you leave my office." 

Tom sighed. He looked up at the portraits of Headmasters. Their names were regal, found in mythology and star charts. Tom wracked his mind for the names of constellations. What was the name of the snake-bearer? "Ophicus," he answered, "For the snake bearer. Ophicus Marvolo." 

"Middle name?" Dumbledore inquired. 

It would have easier just to answer 'none', but Tom never responded with the easiest method. "Serpens, I suppose." 

Dumbledore smiled. His eyes twinkled. It was the trademarked look; the look that said 'I know something that you don't,' without so much as verbalising it. The look that frustrated Tom to no end. But there was nothing he could do about it. "Now I must contact your head of house – I will be putting you under his care for the rest of the summer" Dumbledore said, standing up. "Help yourself to lemon drops while I am gone," he said, motioning to a tray of candies. He then left the office. 

Tom didn't take a candy. He surveyed his position. Not much could be done from here – even if he were some sort of Dark Lord, hell-bent on the destruction of Dumbledore and this Harry Potter fellow, he couldn't get at that goal very easily from where he was now. All in all, the very idea that anyone would use enrolling in the school as a way to get at Harry Potter seemed beyond Tom Riddle's imagination – and the idea that Dumbledore had been so sure that those were his motives in asking to be re- enrolled struck him as just a tad below the man's usual sensibility. Perhaps old age had gotten to his former Transfiguration teacher. 

Then again, perhaps it was just the old Gryffindor sensibility coming to Dumbledore in his senility; the impulse to clobber first, ask questions later. 

Tom wondered what his luck was to be woken up by Dumbledore, of all people. After all – Dumbledore knew Tom, and could probably trust him when he said that he was most emphatically not a Dark Lord. However, Tom had no love for the Professor. 

As far as Tom was concerned, Albus Dumbledore was a prime example of Gryffindor stupidity – so sure in his bravery and nobility that he was absolutely correct that he couldn't face the facts when they were set in someone else's favour; absolutely confident that he had a corner on the morality market. 

Not to mention bloody certain that no Slytherin could possibly turn out to be a decent fellow. Dumbledore had hated him in class for taking attention away from the 'brilliant' Ravenclaws and Gryffindors – Tom was sure of it. Every teacher had their favourites, and Dumbledore favoured the Gryffindors, perhaps without even knowing it. Tom wondered if it would be worse had Dumbledore been consciously giving Slytherins a hard time. He decided it might have been better that way; but certainly not worse. Dumbledore always had his favourites: always Gryffindors, always brash fellows who acted without thinking, always good examples of the pole-stuck-up-your-arse corner-on-chivalry Gryffindor mentality, always mediocre students eager to please their teachers and classmates. 

Utterly disgusting examples of humanity in Tom's opinion. 

Dumbledore returned, with another Professor following him; an oily, bat-like man who appeared to have spent much too much time in the dungeons and much too little in the sunlight. "This is Severus Snape," Dumbledore said, motioning to the teacher. 

"Professor Snape, this is Ophicus Serpens Marvolo – a new student to be enrolled in Hogwarts this year. He will go into Slytherin." The look in this Snape's eyes told Tom that Snape knew he had been found in the Chamber, but clearly Dumbledore was saying this as a test – to see if Snape accepted the tale and thereby pledged his loyalty to it. 

Snape merely nodded, staring at Tom in the most unsettling way. "And what year will he be enrolling in?" 

"Sixth," answered Dumbledore. 

"I will make sure the house-elves know to ready another bed," Snape answered, and started to leave. Dumbledore stopped him. 

"Severus – Ophicus here has no one to look after him for the rest of the summer. As he is 16 years old, he is certainly able to take care of himself, but as he has been… entrusted to the school, someone will have to take responsibility for him. As head of Slytherin house, I put him under your responsibility." 

Snape winced. "Dumbledore, have you taken into account the-" Snape stopped, looking nervously at Tom. 

"Indeed, I have, Severus, and I believe that you will be able to handle it nicely – I assure you, Ophicus will provide no problem." This was said with a stern look at Tom. Dumbledore nodded to Snape and the younger man swept out of his office. Dumbledore returned his attention to Tom. "You are to behave yourself well, Tom. I assure you – Severus Snape is one of the best disciplinarians that I know – you will not get any leeway for mistakes under him." _Wonderful_ thought Tom. "Finally, I see that you will need a new wand. Interestingly enough, I might be able to help you with the solution to that problem. Fawkes, my phoenix," here Dumbledore motioned to the red and gold bird, "has recently given another feather." Dumbledore pulled a fine reddish feather out of a drawer in his desk. "As your old wand had been phoenix feather-core, I believe that this will provide an ideal core for your new wand. Show it to Ollivander, he'll know what to do." He handed Tom the feather. 

An odd jolt ran up Tom's arm – the feel of great power inside that feather. It was like the old feeling of holding a wand in his hand – forgotten in the eternity of enchanted sleep, but a hundred fold stronger. Tom nodded, and stood up. "Is that it? Shall I head to the Slytherin dungeons then?" 

Dumbledore nodded. "The password, I believe, is _Serpensentri._" 

Tom turned to leave, but then remembered something; "Dumbledore," he asked, "Can I have my prefect's badge back? I believe Voldemort stole mine." 

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled again, as he reached into his desk and handed Tom a new badge. "I was wondering when you would ask," and with that, Tom left the headmaster's office. 

* * *

He sat on his four-poster in the sixth years' dorms, idly twirling the feather in his hands. The bed was comfortable, of course, but he was wide-awake; who wouldn't be after fifty years of enchanted sleep? He mulled this new situation over in his mind. 

Snape had told him – there was to be no unruly behaviour, he would get his school things at Diagon Alley the next day, and then begin on school work; there were, after all, precious few weeks left in the summer and, according to Snape, Slytherins were never lazy. Tom had thought of correcting him: he had known quite a few Slytherins in his time who were quite lazy. Often these were the ones who somehow got Ravenclaws to do their work for them. 

Tom thought them clever, cunning, but on the whole, good for nothing slobs without the ambition to further themselves. So it was just as well that Snape didn't expect him to be one of them – Tom certainly wouldn't disappoint on that account. 

After getting accustomed to the jolt the feather gave him when he picked it up, Tom had discovered the deliciously soft feeling of holding it – and he was loath to set it down, now. He swirled it in the air above him, lazily. 

The same time that Snape had warned Tom of laziness, he had handed the student his schedule and supply list – everything Tom would need for another year's study at Hogwarts. A house-elf had come in later with the necessary pouch full of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Tom tried to smile at the house-elf, but the things always disgusted him, so the act was beyond him. 

It was nearly midnight, and he was still awake. He put down the feather and rubbed his eyes, leaning back and trying to see if he could fall asleep. But there was that voice in the back of his head, telling him he had slept enough and should at least do something before he went back to sleep again. He sat up again. Despite his eagerness to act, there really was nothing to do in the vacated castle. He went back to pondering. 

So, he would be in the same class as this wonderful Harry Potter. From everyone he had talked to about the character, he gathered that he was the favourite of the Gryffindors. Tom would probably hate him. Then again, perhaps the Gryffindor fool would be afraid of Tom – didn't Harry think that Tom was, in effect, Lord Voldemort?_ 'Hello Harry Potter, my name is Tom Riddle.'_ The boy would run screaming. Tom laughed. It was the old debate that had run through his head while talking to Dumbledore. 

Everyone thought he was Voldemort, of that he was sure. But was this a good thing? A bad thing? He supposed it was bad due to his gut wrenching reaction that _that was not him, _but he supposed that there were things about the Dark Lord to be proud of. After all, Lord Voldemort, from what Ginny had told him, was the most powerful wizard of the recent times –who only feared Albus Dumbledore. And there was something there, even if Tom didn't picture himself as the type to become an evil overlord – enjoying the quiet pastimes of mass-murder and torturing Muggles._ Hello Harry Potter, my name is Tom Riddle. – Lord Voldemort._

Except – no. His name was no longer Tom Riddle. Ophicus Serpens Marvolo. He winced. Why had Dumbledore not given him at least a little time to choose a name in the library? He already hated his new name – his tongue got garbled up whenever he tried to say it himself. Ophicus Serpens Marvolo. Ophicus Serpens Marvolo. Tom shook his head. 

Why couldn't he just be Tom? The name was a wretched, Muggle name, but it was his own. And it was hard to mispronounce – unlike Ophicus Serpens Marvolo. 

Tom sighed. No. Ophicus Serpens Marvolo sighed. He would have to drill it in his head – to prevent himself from ever slipping up. 

He picked up his prefect badge from the table beside the four-poster. In a world of uncertainty, here was one thing that was looking up; he had his old powers back. And at least Voldemort wouldn't bother him this year. 

He had forgotten to ask Dumbledore about that. He decided that it was a minor fault – after all, someone would certainly have come to power in the past fifty years who could have defeated him. Ginny had said – yes, Ginny had said that _Harry Potter _defeated him. He was only a fifteen-year-old boy when he left the Chamber. How hard could it be to defeat a fifteen-year- old boy? 

Even if that fifteen-year-old boy was the smartest Slytherin the school had ever seen? 

Tom –Ophicus – smiled at that. Some things remain constant, and if Tom – Ophicus – was confident of anything, it was his magical ability. He put the prefect badge down, picked up the pouch of money, and started tossing it into the air. He didn't sleep that night, nor any night until school started. He had slept enough. 

* * *

"Ophicus!" he heard a shout from the common room. "Get in here this instant!" Tom jumped up, grabbed the pouch and the feather, and ran up the stairs into the common room. Snape was standing there, snarling. "I have to go into Diagon Alley on business of my own today," he said. "You will buy your school things. I expect no trouble from you." 

From the glare, Snape hardly took to Tom – Ophicus. He still hadn't gotten used to the ring of his new name. Snape walked briskly to the fireplace, tossed in some Floo powder, and shouted "Diagon Alley," disappearing. Tom hurried to do the same. Of course, upon his arrival at the Leaky Cauldron, his 'guardian' was nowhere to be found. Shrugging this off as irrelevant, Tom made his way into the thoroughfare and down to Ollivander's: to get his new wand. There was a line of children – probably eagerly awaiting their first wand for their first years at Hogwarts – and so Tom causally stepped into a darker corner, and pulled out the phoenix feather, twiddling with it. 

It wasn't long before the crowd thinned out, and someone came up to him – a trainee from the looks of it. "May I help you, sir?" the trainee asked, eyeing the feather greedily. 

"I need a new wand," said Tom. "And I want it to have this core. Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts told me to speak with Mr. Ollivander." 

The trainee nodded, slowly, and took the feather, leading Tom to the aged wand maker, who was just finishing with another customer. "Mr. Ollivander, sir, this man here's got another feather from Dumbledore – he says it's for his wand." 

Tom looked at Mr. Ollivander, and Mr. Ollivander turned to him, and all of a sudden, the old man had the most peculiar reaction – he squeaked. "T…Tom Riddle?" he inquired. 

Tom began to nod, but then stopped himself. "I apologise sir, but I don't know of any Tom Riddle. My name is Marvolo – Ophicus Serpens Marvolo." He hoped he hadn't mangled the name. 

Ollivander nodded slowly. "And why are you in need of a new wand? Your old one hasn't broken?" 

"No, as a matter of fact, it was stolen." 

"Stolen? Who would steal a wand?" Tom could hear the unspoken question – who would steal a wand from a wizard such as you? 

So Ollivander had realised the game – and was playing along. This was going better than Tom had thought. 

"A wizard – you've probably never heard of him. We had a… petty, personal dispute." 

Ollivander looked suspicious. "And this wizard's name?" 

"Oh, he's probably dead now – I believe he went by Voldemort." 

The trainee squealed louder than Tom would have thought possible. Tom winced and suddenly realised that he had made a gross error in judgement. "V…v… You-know-who stole your wand?" squeaked the trainee. 

"You-know-who?" Tom glanced nervously to Ollivander, trying to gauge how serious a misstep he had taken. Ollivander motioned to the trainee. 

"Phillip, take the phoenix feather into the back room and prepare it for making a wand, please." The trainee scurried away. Ollivander turned to Tom. "Now, Mr. Riddle, I see that you are quite behind the times. Your wand has been up to some serious cursing while you were away, I fear. I am surprised Dumbledore didn't tell you." 

"Tell me what?" 

"The wizard who has your wand now is very much alive – and one of the most feared wizards of recent times. I suggest you not say his name aloud, as doing so will mark you as either very ignorant, which you are not, or very foolhardy, which I hope you have not become." Ollivander sighed. "As to the feather – I suggest you look to other wands in this shop, and come up with another story as to how you lost your wand." 

Tom blinked. Mr. Ollivander left the main shop for the back room, and the trainee came out again, looking calmer now – and more sceptical. "What's all this hogwash about You-Know-Who stealing your wand?" 

Tom sized up this opponent, and quickly found him not one to really respect. Small, lanky, and looking as if he had never done much of anything very difficult in all his years, Tom decided that he had reason to disdain this wand maker. "It's not hogwash. You-Know-Who did steal my wand. Along with my school things, my Silver Arrow – excellent broom, by the way – most of my clothing, my family and almost all of my friends. I think this You-Know-Who fellow has it in for me." 

"And who are you? Harry bloody Potter? The Dark Lord isn't into petty thievery, Mr. Marvolo." The assistant was seething. Perhaps it would be better to end this now, with some placating statement, but Tom was having far too much fun for that. 

"It certainly was not petty thievery – he had to get those things from somewhere, didn't he? Where do you expect You-Know- Who got his start?" 

"Mr. Ollivander says he was one of the most brilliant students Hogwarts has ever had. That's a start." 

Tom laughed. "You are quite mistaken. The Dark Lord was_ the _most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever had. Not one of." 

The trainee looked even more suspicious but turned away from Tom. "Well, I've been directed to start you out on some of these wands," and handed Tom a wand. 

"I don't want this one – I need the one with the phoenix feather core," insisted Tom. 

"Well, that's not up to you – the wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Ollivander always says. Come along now, wave it around." 

Glaring, Tom cast a quick swish-and-flick motion, pointed his wand at a nearby flower pot, and said "Wingardium Leviosa." The flowerpot exploded. He turned back to the trainee. 

"Well, I suppose that's not the right one," the trainee answered, handing Tom another wand. "Try this one." 

This time Tom tried a _reparo_ charm, but it only succeeded in lighting the shattered flowerpot on fire. The next two wands did nothing, and the fire started to spread, so the trainee took a short break to douse it with water and stomp it out, bemoaning his bad luck. They moved on to other wands. 

Three hours and five hundred and forty six wands later, they had come full circle and tried what had to be every wand in the store. The place was a mess – wand boxes destroyed to mere confetti littering the floor, spills of water from flower vases and shattered glass, windows broken, scorch marks in several places on the floor. The air was full of dust, but through it could be seen Tom, grinning like a maniac – he had been proven right; he did need the phoenix feather wand. 

It was at that moment that Mr. Ollivander came out. He looked surprised to see Tom still there, and even more surprised at the state of his shop. "What has been going on?" he asked. 

"We've tried every wand in the store," replied the exhausted trainee. "All with disastrous results." 

The look on Tom's face could only be described as fey. But he controlled himself and turned to Mr. Ollivander. "I told him I needed the phoenix feather wand," he said. 

Mr. Ollivander handed Tom the freshly made wand, hand shaking. "Phoenix feather and blackthorne, Mr. Marvolo, 13 and a half inches. This wand has a mind of its own, I warn you." 

Tom only smirked, grasping the wand firmly, and, waving it around, called out "Reparo." There was a whirl of wind and the dust filtered down to the ground. The scorch marks on the ground were gone – the wand boxes reformed from confetti, surrounding their wands. The vases melded back together from shards into their original forms. The shop was back to normal. 

"Mr. Marvolo, I believe you have a wand," answered Mr. Ollivander, warily. "But may I warn you – that wand has two brothers; and the two brothers are constantly at war. You may find yourself pulled into the struggle." Seeing that this only added to Tom's confidence, Mr. Ollivander sighed. "That will be sixteen Galleons, Mr. Marvolo." 

Tom paid, and left the shop to get the rest of his school supplies. 

There were a few people who stopped him in the street, but upon seeing his face they all turned away. He supposed it was some popular young Hogwarts student that he looked like – at least in passing. 

Having spent the day (and most of his money) and procured everything he could forseeably need for his next year at Hogwarts, he returned to the school. The first thing he did was speak to Snape. He had realised, throughout the day that the way Snape treated him wasn't with ambivalence; on the contrary, his 'guardian' was ruthlessly contrary to Tom. 

He found the head of house's door without much event, and knocked – even if the teacher could not possibly deign to respect the young Slytherin, Tom realised that respect should be given where it was due; especially within Slytherin house. 

"Come in," came a rather annoyed voice from inside. Tom stepped inside, silently. The Potions master was sitting, bent over a sheet of parchment, grumbling to himself. "Albus, I cannot accept this class list – you have somehow managed to confuse Potter with a student gifted in Potions." Professor Snape looked up, and, seeing Tom, scowled. "What is it?" he snapped. 

"Professor, with all due respect, you treat me as if you think I belong in Gryffindor house. I assure you that while I may not have been under your tutelage before, I have no reason to believe that I am worthy of your disdain." 

Professor Snape looked at Tom, as if measuring him against something, and then snarled again. "Pride will get you nowhere, Marvolo." 

Tom sighed. It seemed that flattery was his only recourse, but Tom was not one to flatter in any situation. He tried again. "It appears that you have not understood me, Professor. I did not mean to sound proud, my ego is not so inflated that I fail to recognise that I have much to learn from the Professors in this school. I simply meant, in all due respect, sir, that in my ignorance I did not understand why you appear to hate me so." 

Where Tom's other request had washed off Snape's oily skull like water off a duck's back, this one seemed to penetrate. "You want to know why I can't bear the sight of you, Marvolo?" the Professor asked. Tom nodded. "You remind me of a student – a student whom you will no doubt soon be acquainted with – whom I disdain." 

Tom nodded slowly. "People in Diagon Alley also appeared to take me for someone I was not," he responded. "But I hope to prove to you that I am certainly not the same person as whomever this hated student is." 

Snape paused, carefully considering his words. "Now, since you so rudely interrupted me – I see that you have been placed in my N.E.W.T.-level potions class. I assure you that the homework I assigned will not take less than a full week – I suggest you get to work on it as soon as possible, in order to have a presentable essay for my review before the start of school." 

Tom smiled, stood up, and turned to go. 

"Oh, and Mr. Marvolo," Snape called, "I am guessing you still have money left over from your trip to Diagon Alley today?" 

Tom turned back. He had about a quarter of it left – but he had intended to keep it. "Yes, sir," he said, deciding that the consequences of breaking his trust with Snape this early on were worse than being low on money for trips to Hogsmeade. "I still have nearly a quarter of the money that was given to me." 

Professor Snape smirked. "Good. Hopefully that will last you through the end of the year. You may keep it, Marvolo." 

Tom nodded, thanked his head of house, and left the office for his own dorm room. 

Of course he knew who he was being mistaken for so constantly – it was fairly obvious. For the past year, he had been drowned in comments about the wonderful Harry Potter. He knew enough about the other boy's appearance to be able to realise that they looked quite similar. He also knew enough about the boy to know that those similarities weren't only superficial – both were half- bloods, orphans, etcetera. It was fortunate that Snape hadn't heard Tom's story. 

Once again, he couldn't sleep. He sat awake again, wondering. It was clear to him that a trip to the library would be necessary for his potions homework – he could put that off until tomorrow. But something was bothering him. 

Lord Voldemort was still alive. 

It didn't strike Tom as even possible, for Lord Voldemort to remain after fifty long years. Besides – Ginny had told him, 

Voldemort had been defeated. Of course he hadn't pieced together that puzzle. 

_ Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am – you are – Lord Voldemort. _

He remembered the letters of his name swimming through the air, rearranging, and becoming that new, twisted version. He had been forced down into the chamber, and was face to face with – himself. 

He was still fuzzy around the edges, but Tom was still terrified; "What are you? Who are you?" he had asked. 

"A dream, a possible future – I am you, Tom Marvolo Riddle." 

Tom shook his head. He was… he was… well, he was right here, holding his wand, and facing this future-self. He hadn't just popped out of a Diary. And he didn't think he had red eyes. He thought he had blue eyes. "No, you aren't me, you can't be me." _There's only one of me, _Tom wanted to add. 

But now there wasn't. Here he was in this New World – fifty years in the future – and there still were two of him. It was a logical paradox. Either one of them was Tom Riddle, or the other was Tom Riddle. He supposed this was why Dumbledore had him change his name: neither Tom Riddle could exist while the other did. There was only one Tom Riddle. 

Just like the Diary-thing had said; "Indeed, there is only one of you – that is why you are going to die." 

Tom had backed away, ran into the statue of Slytherin. "You're not me, you're that Diary…" 

"Clever, aren't we?" the thing had laughed. "Here I was hoping you would blame little Ginny Weasley." 

Tom had been shocked. He hadn't even thought of Ginny – did this mean that the same thing would happen to her? "What is going on?" 

In retrospect, it was all painfully obvious. Of course the same thing had happened to her – except, by some odd quirk of the failed spell, she got another Tom. Maybe it was just impossible to make an anagram out of Ginny's name. All the more power to her. She wouldn't be caught in this same bind. 

But then another thought entered his mind – if he had been meant to blame Ginny, then she was meant to blame him. She would have – and that was yet another reason behind changing his name. Ginny Weasley and whichever of her brothers was still in school might not recognise him as Tom Riddle – but if he said that was his name, they would pounce, not realising their mistake, that it wasn't his fault. 

Except, whom was he fooling? It was his fault, his fault from the beginning, for not destroying the Diary in his own time or at least making sure Ginny stopped writing. Perhaps if he had never written in it again, she would also have stopped. But he had continued to write – causing his own downfall and maybe hers too. Harry Potter was still alive; had he succeeded in saving Ginny? Knowing the Gryffindor mentality, he probably had. No true Gryffindor would save his own skin at the expense of someone else's if there were the slightest chance of the other surviving. Even if the only chance was getting the body of the dead to it's loved ones. Typical Gryffindor mentality, and from all signs, Harry Potter was such a typical Gryffindor. 

At least Ginny had survived the mistake. His mistake. He promoted it, asked for her confidences and concerns. He had wanted her to pour out her own soul into that Diary, and he had done the same with his. It was no surprise that something popped out of the clearly magical book. 

Just like the Diary-Tom had said. "You really do belong in Gryffindor, Master Riddle. You and that brat Ginny Weasley have been pouring yourselves into the Diary for the past year – so much that something just happened to pop out. Me. Or, should I say; you." That had been when he had done the trick with names. Fortunately, Tom had had an advantage. He had a wand – and the spectre didn't. He had shouted out a spell to lock the spectre in the Diary. 

It was the only spell Tom Marvolo Riddle ever botched. 

It had turned on him, draining him of energy. The new Tom had solidified, laughing, as Riddle dropped to the floor. He had picked up the wand – phoenix feather and yew, thirteen and a half inches. "This will come in useful," he had intoned. Then, snatching Tom's prefect badge, he had left his enemy for dead. 

Tom had known it wasn't safe to leave until this Voldemort was good and dead, so he had tried another spell, and fallen into the same enchanted sleep. 

And now he was back. He wondered if it was any safer now. He doubted it. But, if Harry Potter had succeeded, at least there weren't three of him running around. 

He decided that he could handle two Tom Riddles, but that three would be excessive. 

At the same time, he wondered how he would explain any of this to Harry Potter or Ginny Weasley. 

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in a chair at the table in the Chamber of Secrets, surveying his surroundings. Torches burning brightly, the place wasn't as fearsome as anyone had anticipated. He finished dismantling the spells around the Chamber with a smile, thinking that this hidden cavern beneath the lake would serve perfectly for the Order of the Phoenix. 

After all, no one knew about it. 

But somewhere far, far away, a high, cruel laugh broke the air, raising the hairs on people's spines. It was an uncanny laugh, and unnatural laugh, but a laugh of triumph nonetheless. 


	2. A Flood of Owls

Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon, www.hp-lexicon.org, when writing this chapter. 

Author's Note: Wow. I never thought that people would like this, even as much as they have. So, now for the second chapter. On goes my carrying out, to the very end, right? No Tom in this chapter, because I am starting this in a typical way, with Harry Potter. Thanks for this chapter go to Jess, Fantome, ennui2 and Goten-Lupin for being awesome enough to read and review chapter 1. I think I may need to go back to my painstaking plan and go add a character and some detail, so the next chapter might not be so quick, but I like this once-a-week thing so I'll definitely try. 

Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 2: A flood of owls 

Harry Potter awoke, with a searing pain in his scar. He jerked up to a seating position, hand darting to his forehead. His fingers felt warm against his cold, clammy skin. That was always a bad sign. He was out of breath from his sudden awakening; his head was throbbing with every breath he took. Scooting back to lean against the wall, he took his hand from his forehead. His breathing evened, and the sense that he was shaking stopped. Then he tried to remember his dream. 

Harry Potter was not an ordinary boy, as evidenced by the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead that was still tinged with a sharp pain. It hurt less when he squinted, for some reason, so Harry's brow was furrowed tightly. It gave him the look of either someone thinking very hard (perhaps harder than necessary) about something, or someone with a rather strange twitch. 

But even given the scar and the strange expression on his face, Harry Potter was no ordinary child. Harry Potter was a wizard. He was going to start his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in a little less than a month, and he couldn't be gladder to be leaving his Aunt and Uncle's house. They called him 'that ruddy boy' and usually treated him as if he were some kind of reprobate. Or perhaps worse than that. Harry couldn't much tell. At least he wasn't stuck in the cupboard under the stairs again. 

Slowly the dream came back to him. He had been dreaming, about Dumbledore this time. Dumbledore in the Chamber of Secrets. The old man had just been sitting at a table, in the Chamber. Harry hadn't recognized it as the Chamber at first, it was so clean and bright, but when he saw the walls he suddenly knew where it was. He had seen those walls before. And there was Dumbledore, peaceably, albeit inexplicably, sitting in the Chamber of Secrets. He could still see it, even now that he was awake. Harry rubbed his scar, wondering what it all meant The Chamber was associated with horrible memories for him, memories of what was possibly the worst day of his life. Well, second worst, if he counted the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. 

Third worst, he thought, but then stopped because he wasn't allowing himself to think about that. He hadn't allowed himself to think of that for almost two months, however unsuccessfully he had been. 

In any case, the Chamber meant danger – great danger – and to see Dumbledore in the Chamber meant that Dumbledore was in danger – great danger. Harry wasn't ready to take this one literally – not quite yet. 

Harry had learned his past year not to trust all his dreams explicitly, so he took all of them with a grain of salt. If he still hadn't mastered Occlumency, at least he could use reason and think things through before acting on impulse. After all, if he hadn't acted on impulse, he would have realised that he should have used the mirror. If he had used his mirror, maybe Sirius would… 

Best not to think about that. He had forbidden himself from thinking about it for almost two months, and in the end it wasn't much helping. After a summer of having nothing to do but think, Harry had a long list of things not to think about. He turned his attention to his dream. He had to use reason, so it was good to ask: What would Dumbledore be doing in the Chamber of Secrets? Harry couldn't tell. There was no reason for anyone to be in the Chamber of Secrets, as far as Harry could tell, unless they wanted to release the Basilisk on unsuspecting students, and even when Harry had hated Dumbledore he couldn't have imagined Dumbledore doing that. 

Motives denied, how would Dumbledore even have gotten into the Chamber of Secrets? As far as Harry knew, Dumbledore was no Parselmouth. Perhaps Dumbledore had broken the spell locking the chamber to password, but Harry was having trouble thinking of Dumbledore as more powerful than Salazar Slytherin himself, and so Harry turned that idea down as well. Having taken the dream with a grain of salt and found it rather illogical, he passed it off as either Voldemort trying to get to him, or just another one of his dreams. 

He supposed it probably was the latter. But something in his gut said that Voldemort, wherever he was, was just about as close to kissing the nearest Death Eater out of happiness as the Dark Lord ever got. Harry abstractly wondered exactly how close this was. 

He decided it was best not to wonder such things, mentally added it to his list of things not to think about, and passed that thought off as some strange fluke of an overactive imagination. 

He had been receiving mail from his friends, and they were slightly more edifying after his furious shouting matches with them last year, but even so neither Ron nor Hermione could reveal much. He turned to Hedwig's empty cage. He had sent her off with a letter to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who were all holed up again in Number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Sirius had left it to the Order in his will, when he… 

Best not to think of that. Harry's friends were, therefore, stuck at number twelve Grimmauld Place, with the rest of the Order. Harry hardly thought this counted as holed up – they were abreast of every bit of information that passed through the Order of the Phoenix. Or at least, they would be as soon as Ginny got the Extendable Ears to work correctly, but that was hardly the point to Harry. They at least knew more than what Harry did from trying to decipher things like; "Tom's gone missing, Moony is going through withdrawal, and mum and dad still won't let us in on anything." Harry sighed. At least they were trying. 

He sat back onto his bed. He wished that he could have been invited to number twelve earlier, it was almost his birthday and he was still with the Dursleys. Dumbledore had demanded that he remain there for at least some time between every year, and Harry had gotten over his ideas of defying Dumbledore. He remembered shouting at the old man, berating him, feeling betrayed by his mentor and headmaster and even hating him outright for some of the last year. But Harry had had a lot of time to think (and a growing list of subjects he did not want to think about) during his captivity in number four Privet drive, and he had come to the conclusion that Dumbledore was probably honest when he said that he only meant the best for Harry. Harry thought of the Muggle proverb, that good intentions pave the way to hell, and he thought that that was, once again, something else to put on the list of subjects not to think about. Harry had reluctantly accepted the fact that he was stuck with the Dursleys for the protection that came from his blood, and left it at that. He knew better than anyone else did that there was no love between him and the Dursleys, but Dumbledore had said: 'family is still family.' 

Now and then Harry still questioned whether Dumbledore really knew what he was talking about or not or if he wasn't just a blamed old codger as so many people had said in the past. After all, Dumbledore had made such a big deal about that prophecy, which Harry just took to be the last bit of damning evidence against him. So it was kill or be killed; he would have to murder Voldemort just as cold-heartedly as Voldemort had tried to kill him. He wondered if he would be able to when the time came. He decided not to think about that. He didn't understand why Dumbledore had kept it from him – to be sure he wouldn't have understood it as a child, but Dumbledore could have prevented so much by telling him the prophecy – and the fact that Voldemort was after it. 

There was another strange issue: why would Voldemort be interested in that prophecy? His reactions from before he knew about it – trying to kill Harry – were the same as his probable reaction from knowing what the prophecy said – trying to kill Harry – and what the prophecy actually predicted he would do – try to kill Harry. Either way, the prophecy didn't offer any real revelation to Voldemort other than he would, in fact, have to do what he had been trying to do for nearly sixteen years – kill Harry. And for all the big deal that Dumbledore had made over the prophecy, one would think it was actually useful. If the world had known that prophecy, so much could have been prevented. 

Harry sighed. No matter what he told himself, he knew that it wasn't Dumbledore's fault at all – it was his fault through and through for not thinking twice before acting. He had gotten Dumbledore chased out of Hogwarts, after all, by the discovery of the DA. He should have been more careful. He should not have allowed the DA to open to people, who weren't honest, who would report them. He probably shouldn't have agreed to teach it at all. And had Dumbledore been in the school when Harry had his dream, maybe someone would have stopped him from going to the Ministry. Maybe it would have prevented… 

Harry wasn't very good at not thinking about anything on his list. 

There were so many things that he had decided not to think about over the summer, a whole range of depressing, horrible thoughts. Harry fell back; letting his head hit his pillow and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Then, deciding that one way to drive those thoughts out of his head was to do schoolwork, he pulled out a Potions book. 

This had been what Hermione had suggested, when Harry had complained of nothing to do, and out of desperation Harry had tried it. Surprisingly, the potions book put thoughts of the Department of Mysteries out of his mind and filled them with thoughts of Potions class: not exactly pleasant, but normal territory that Harry was quite used to by now. No rampaging grief, no thoughts of catastrophes and his responsibility for them. 

All in all, his books on Quidditch worked better, but he had used them up in the beginning of the summer, and he was left with his Potions book. McGonagall had said he needed to do better in that class. Perhaps this would help. 

Harry realised, of course, that the reason he had to do better in Potions was because the teacher despised him. And he realised that improving his actual knowledge of Potions would have no effect whatsoever on his performance in that class as per reported by Professor Snape. However, McGonagall didn't know this for certain, and it was always good to appease Harry's strict Head of House. 

Noise came from downstairs, but he didn't heed it. Since he came back from school the Dursleys had acted very strangely towards him. On contrary to partaking in their normal pastimes of yelling at Harry and making his life miserable, they had taken to ignoring him completely: they locked him in his room and didn't let him out, didn't speak to him or provide him with a thing except for shelter. He was starved for news. Last year, at least, he had been able to watch the nightly news (albeit secretly) and assure himself that if Voldemort was up to something, even the Muggles would know. 

Harry Potter was certainly not the normal teenaged boy, as no normal teenaged boy would want to watch the news. His Aunt and Uncle noticed this and used it as damning evidence against him. 

But at least now they weren't screaming at him morning, noon and night. And he had shelter. Harry wondered if this would suffice for Dumbledore. He had survived on food delivered by Hedwig from the Weasleys – he could always count on Mrs. Weasley to get him out of starving, just as she had several times before. His stomach rumbled. It had been a few days since Hedwig had come, and Harry had foolishly eaten all of what Mrs. Weasley had sent. He looked longingly out the window, searching for the shape of his owl. Surprisingly, he could soon make one out. 

He thought it was a mirage caused by his intensifying hunger. But the owl flew closer and he could tell it was real. Hedwig had come back 

Or, to be more precise, _an owl had come._ Now that it was nearly there, he could tell it was a tawny, greyish brown owl, quite different from his own Hedwig. He pushed aside his Potions book and opened his window, letting the tawny brown enter. It sat proudly on the windowsill and presented a letter. He detached the letter from this owl's foot, and watched it as it pompously turn around and fly out the window – brisk. Clearly an official owl from the Ministry. Harry turned his attention back to the letter. 

The letter was printed in black ink on plain, slightly yellow, parchment, with the air of a mass mailing designed for efficiency and without any purpose to be comforting or interesting. 

Having an idea of what this was about, he opened the letter. His heart was beating frantically: this owl would decide his future, whether or not he would be free to do what he chose in Hogwarts or whether he would have to think of another career. Hermione might not have to worry about her OWLs results, but Harry himself was terrified. __

OWL results. Report for: Mr Harry James Potter  
  
History of Magic: Average  
  
Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations  
  
Charms: Outstanding  
  
Divination: Average  
  
Care of Magical Creatures: Exceeds Expectations  
  
Potions: Exceeds Expectations  
  
Astronomy: Dreadful  
  
Herbology: Average  
  
Defence Against the Dark Arts:: Outstanding

Harry had to read it twice just to be sure. Eight OWLs, that was something to be proud of, he decided. He didn't like the Astronomy score, but he put that off to the interrupted test session. He read his scores a third time and only then did he allow himself a sigh of relief and a smile. He fought the urge to laugh out loud, so great was his happiness. His scores were good enough. They would allow him to continue on the only career path he had ever really considered: becoming an Auror. And so long as he could be an Auror, Harry was content with his life. 

Well, not his life. But at least his future. 

Perhaps, though, soon there would be no need for Aurors. Perhaps he would confront Voldemort again, and succeed this time. 

But what seemed more likely was that he would die. 

So, he had to admit, to be truthful, he wasn't even content with his future. 

He was, at least, he resolved, content with the prospect of his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That was certain. If he would be able to go into Auror training, he would be content with his education. 

And he would become an Auror, and learn to kill. And he would kill Voldemort. 

Whether he wanted to or not – as long as he wanted to survive, he had no real choice. He sighed, his good mood slightly deflated. 

Best not to think about that, he reminded himself for what had to be the millionth time. 

He picked up the Potions book, reopening it. Hermione was right about one thing, when he was thinking about the reasoning behind the specific ratios between ingredients used in healing salves, he didn't think about other, more troublesome things. Which was a relief. 

He couldn't escape them otherwise: he dreamed about them quite enough for his tastes. 

He didn't notice the second owl fly in through his open window, but when it pecked him on the ear he turned from his reading and extricated its letter. This was a Hogwarts owl, he guessed from its demeanour and size. He opened Hedwig's cage for it, and the black owl hopped in, heading straight for the water. Harry looked at the letter, sealed with the Hogwarts crest as usual. 

The letter was early, which wasn't usual. He opened it.

__

Mr. Harry James Potter,   
  
Your OWL results have come to us, as you no doubt must have realised upon receiving them yourself. My only comment is, Congratulations, Mr. Potter. It is clear from these results that you did in fact study hard for these tests. Based on these results, all other teachers and I have approved your course selections and your intention to train as an Auror. I have also spoken with Professor Dumbledore about the possible necessity of private lessons, as although you have proven yourself capable of handling these OWL level tests the NEWT level classes are another step up – and you may not be prepared as well as one would have hoped. Here are the classes and lessons that you are currently signed up for.  
  
Potions, NEWT level  
  
Transfiguration, NEWT level  
  
Defence Against the Dark Arts, NEWT level  
  
Charms, NEWT level  
  
Care of Magical Creatures, Post-OWL level   
  
Herbology, Post-OWL level  
  
Study sessions (Weekly)  
  
Occlumency lessons (Weekly)  
  
Once again, I assure you that I will see to it you are made ready to continue your training as an Auror by the time you finish Hogwarts. I do not make idle promises, Potter, and I hope that you will not disappoint me. This is a rigorous schedule, I hope you take a leaf out of your friend Hermione Granger's book and show a developed sense of organisation – she has, might I add, the most OWLs of any student in your fifth year.  
  
- Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Harry almost laughed from joy, again, reading the letter. So McGonagall was going to help him become an Auror. Not only that, but Harry was fairly certain that she wasn't obligated to talk to Dumbledore about all her students, and he certainly knew that McGonagall offering to give him a private study session – almost demanding to do so, in fact, was a sign of her eagerness to help him achieve his goal. 

All of which made Harry much more confident about the year ahead. He set the letter aside, next to his OWL results, and had scarcely turned around to check the window but Hedwig dropped inside. He quickly untied her burdensome package – every time he sent Hedwig to the Weasleys she came back with a heavier and heavier burden. Hedwig jumped to join the other owl in her cage and began drinking her fill as well. Harry carefully unwrapped the package. Out fell two letters and enough food for several days, if he budgeted right. He set the food aside, denying his still aching stomach and turning first to the letters. One was in Ron's familiar scrawl, one in Hermione's neat handwriting. He opened Ron's first. 

__

Harry,  
  
Not much is going on with you-know-what. Ginny is still working on our ears, but nothing that she's tried has worked. Even Hermione has started helping her – a real step for Hermione who still pretends to disdain rule breaking. I say, if the rule breaking works for us, who's going to stop us?  
  
OWL results haven't come back yet, and I honestly think that if they take another day Hermione is going to explode with anticipation. Strange – we all know what scores she got. How could she get anything other than O, O, O, O, and O… I'm more worried about my own – those were bloody difficult, some of them.  
  
Let's see. You always complain that we tell you about trivial things and not the important ones – and I know exactly how you feel, mate, because the truth is that mum only tells us the trivial things, not the important ones. She says Dumbledore should be coming by soon – maybe he'll persuade her to let us in on some things. We are, after all, always the ones who have to fight You-Know- Who.  
  
All right, fine, you're always the one who has to fight You-Know-Who. But that doesn't mean that we shouldn't know about anything! Hermione and I are the ones telling you everything we know; you would think that the adults would help us with that.   
  
Ginny seems rather down, I can't tell why. Hermione says she hasn't been sleeping lately. This place is a crypt – the only way out of it is sleeping, I can't imagine why she wouldn't. Maybe you can cheer her up, Harry.  
  
Oh, I've almost forgot the most important piece of news! Mum says that we should be able to break you out of there in three days, for your birthday. Happy birthday, Harry, although I'll tell you again when I see you!   
  
Don't let the Muggles get you down – you'll be out soon!  
  
Ron

Harry smiled. His friend did certainly write more lengthy responses this summer, although they didn't have much more content. At least now he knew what they were doing. It was still beyond him why they would have kept it secret from him last year, when he was desperate for any news he could find, but he had decided to forgive them at the outset of the summer and meant to stand by that. He opened Hermione's letter.

__

Harry,  
  
Has Ron told you that we'll be coming in three days? It would be just like him to forget, so I figured I would send you another message by Hedwig as well. A sort of birthday present for you, Harry. I'm sure you'll be glad to get away from those horrid people you live with  
  
. None of us can wait until you get here, the place needs some brightening up, and we'd all feel better without worrying about how the Muggles are treating you.  
  
I suppose Ron would have told you all he could think of, so I won't repeat him.   
  
See you soon,  
  
Hermione

Harry broke into a wide grin. He would be leaving in three days. It was all going to be over in three days, for another year at Hogwarts. Which was all he could have asked for right then. He almost ran down to tell his Aunt and Uncle directly, and then suddenly remembered that they had him locked in. He would have to wait until someone came up there. Maybe if he banged on the doors loud enough… 

Harry sighed, and sat back down. If they weren't speaking to him, what would their reactions be when a group of fully grown wizards came to fetch him in three days time – as a complete surprise? He supposed that the Dursleys would be too shocked to speak. But Harry liked them best that way – silent. 

Any way he looked at it, this was a hopeless situation. But he refused, therefore, to look at it. 

And besides, another owl was coming. Not knowing why so many owls could possibly have come to him that day, he reopened the window and sat on his bed in shocked as the regal owl flew in and dropped a letter onto his lap, only to swoop back out again. This was in curly handwriting, purple ink on white parchment. 

He opened it.

__

Harry,  
  
I have spoken to Professor Snape about your continued Occlumency lessons. He point-blank refuses to teach you, so I have decided to take you on as a pupil myself. I hope you will not mind the change of Professors. Please report to my office after the Welcoming Feast when you get to Hogwarts for more information.   
  
Dumbledore.

Harry almost fell down from the sheer joy. Not only was he going to be leaving in three days, he was going to be going back to Hogwarts and continuing his training – to become an Auror – and his usually loathed Occlumency lessons with Snape would be, instead, with Dumbledore. 

He wondered if fortune was finally turning his way, but decided that it was probably too early to tell. He turned to the door and started banging on it rather loudly. He hoped that the Dursleys would notice. 

It took almost ten minutes, but finally Uncle Vernon came storming up the stairs and bellowed, "What is it?" through the locked door. 

"I've just been told; my friends are coming to get me in three days – for my birthday. I'll be leaving. Thought you ought to know, so you wouldn't be surprised." He tried to sound sorry, as if this were some imposition on the Dursleys, but it was hard to conceal his happiness and anticipation. 

"Bloody hell they're not," Vernon shouted, "No group of people like… like…_ you_ are showing up at our doorstep in broad daylight. You'll have to be fetched from somewhere else – we won't permit it." 

Harry sighed. That complicated things, but perhaps Mrs. Figg would be willing to help him here. "Well, alright, but will you at least let me out of my room then? So I can leave, and not have them bother you?" 

Uncle Vernon was silent, as if thinking this over very carefully. "Swear you won't curse Dudley like you tried to last year?" 

Harry hardly thought it suitable to argue that he had been trying to protect Dudley last year. "Yes." 

More silence, and then a gruff "Fine, then," from his uncle. "But not a noise out of you until then, or you'll be locked up there, and you can forget about going to that blasted school of yours." 

Harry heard his uncle clamouring down the stairs, and pulled out a piece of parchment and his quill. 

__

Ron,  
  
The Dursleys won't let me leave if you come here – Can I meet you all at Mrs. Figg's house. See you then!  
  
Harry

The idea that this might be a problem with Mrs. Figg was irrelevant: Harry figured that, as part of the Order, she had been watching him for the past summer (or trying to watch him, which would have been hard given he hadn't strayed outside of his bedroom for its entirety) and would be for any way to get him away from the Dursleys. 

"Ready for another letter, Hedwig?" he asked his owl, and she hopped out of her cage and offered her leg. He tied on the note and, giving her the last owl treat he had saved from school, he sent her off to find Ron. She flapped out of the window, and receded into the sky. 

Harry sat back onto his bed, grinning widely. This year was starting to look up again. 


	3. Lost and Found

Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon, www.hp-lexicon.org, when writing this chapter.

Author's Note: I'm quite glad to be getting back into this story. As I now have a beta reader to poke and prod me to continue this, as I think she likes it, (Thank you so much for saving my sorry American butt, Katy) updates should be more frequent. Also as I'm finding that I really do enjoy this story and even more so what I have planned. Thanks go out to everyone who has reviewed, and everyone who reads this, and… yeah. 

Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 3: Lost and Found 

Everything went precisely according to plan, until the next day. Well, not quite according to plan. Hedwig still hadn't come back, and Harry was beginning to worry. Harry supposed there had been some controversy at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and that Hedwig's delayed return meant serious, probably bad news for his escape from the Dursleys. What he got, however, was certainly not what he expected. The letter was – this time – from Ginny, of all people. 

_ Harry,  
  
Mum has just informed Mrs. Figg about your plan – and she was shocked that you hadn't told Mrs. Figg first, before just sending off the letter to us. Well, that's not exactly true. Mum has tried to contact Mrs. Figg, but since Mundungus and Tonks have been patrolling Little Winging for the past week, Mrs. Figg decided to take a holiday. Mum was quite upset – still is. Ron and Hermione are downstairs arguing with her that you could just go to Mrs. Figg's to meet us, but Mum won't have it, and we are having a bit of a crisis. I think that we will end up meeting you directly at your Aunt and Uncle's house, but we shall try to be discreet about it. Ron and Hermione are still arguing – it should be a while, so I'm sending Hedwig back with as much as I know.  
  
P.S. I've attached Ms. Figg's reply to the owl that finally reached her about you meeting us from her house – so you can see what a problem it is for Mum and Dad.  
  
Ginny_

The attached letter was written on more expensive parchment, with dark blue ink in a precise, curly handwriting that Harry remembered from so many photograph albums of cats. Sighing, he read it. 

_ Molly;   
  
I don't know what you're talking about – Harry has most certainly not talked to me about spending any time at my house prior to being taken to the Headquarters. He would find it rather difficult, given that I am not currently at Privet Drive, but rather in a holiday home in the Isle of Wight, and he would find it hard to get into my house. I'm sure Mr. Tibbles would appreciate the company, but you understand that it is impossible for young Mr. Potter to use my home as a meeting point when I am not at home.  
  
- Arabella_

Mrs. Figg? On holiday? Harry had never known her to do so in her life, but he supposed that he didn't really know her over-well, he had only learned she was a squib last year. And he also supposed that everyone had a right to take a holiday. 

So long as it wasn't when he wanted to be broken out of the prison he called the Dursley's home. He wondered what Uncle Vernon would say if he asked to be let out of his room late at night. Uncle Vernon would probably be asleep. There was nothing for it but to wait for another owl from his friends. He supposed Ginny was right – Mrs. Weasley could be near impossible to persuade of something if she thought she had someone's 'best interests' at heart – and so Harry feared for his fate should Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia learn of his real plan. He feared punishment from the Dursleys for this new change in plan, because it could, in effect, mean he did not get back to Hogwarts for the year. 

He was vaguely heartened by the fact that Ron and Hermione were working to help him – at least they knew that he couldn't very well just stay at his Aunt and Uncle's house for a few more hours. He was surprised that the rest of the Order didn't realise that the Dursleys would most certainly not be flexible towards when Harry was picked up. They certainly wouldn't let him lounge in the living room while waiting for his friends. In all likelihood, if he wasn't promptly locked back up, never to be seen again, he would be thrown out of the house into a Muggle world where the only people who knew him were more likely to beat him to a pulp than befriend him. Dudley's gang was still in fine form. 

Fortunately, Dudley was little more than a gnat in his vision any more. His bloated cousin hadn't said a word to him the few times that they had seen each other throughout the summer, and Harry was perfectly happy with this state of affairs. He almost thought that Dudley was afraid of him, either that or his cousin had turned into a much quieter and shier person. He supposed that nearly getting a Dementor's kiss would do that to a Muggle, and perhaps his oaf of a cousin had realised that Harry had saved him last year. But if Muggles couldn't see Dementors, it was just as likely that Dudley still thought Harry had been the cause of it all. That would explain the fear. 

But Dudley's fear of Harry wouldn't help Harry get out of the Dursleys house on command. Uncle Vernon was not scared of the young wizard, and it was he who held the keys. Harry wondered how to pick the lock to his door, and vaguely wished Fred and George were there, with their Muggle lock picking set. Actually, now that they were out of Hogwarts, they could just use a quick spell. It was a familiar thought. He picked up a quill from his desk, and stuck it in the lock for he twentieth time that summer. He twisted it around, hopelessly listening for the click of the latch unlocking. No luck, all he ended up with was a mangled quill and a new coat of ink on the lock of his door. He sighed and sat back in bed. There were no bars on his window, but he hardly fancied a jump from the second story into the rather prickly bush that Aunt Petunia had planted there. He gave Hedwig some crust off of a sandwich Mrs. Weasley had made him, and wondered what to do next. 

He had at while to wait yet, and not even homework to do during the wait. Running away from home he realised to be foolish, especially now when the Weasleys would be there to rescue him in less than two days. But he still wished there were something he could do. He supposed there really wasn't, and waited for more word. 

None came. 

Harry hardly ate, drank, or even slept the next two days, he was so wound up – what if something had happened and the Weasleys decided he could hardly stay with them at all? What if they couldn't retrieve him, or they couldn't protect him, or Dumbledore decided that it would be best for Harry to stay with the Dursleys longer or some strange thing? Harry didn't want to think of that possibility, but he hardly knew what to do to keep the time. He twiddled his thumbs, counted the pockmarks in his ceiling and walls caused by Dudley's rampaging temper tantrums over the years, and sighed away the days. 

All of which meant he was left to his thoughts. Which was not where he wanted to be left. After all, being left with his thoughts was nearly as bad as being left at the Dursleys altogether, for the rest of his life. His list of things not to think about grew longer and longer, and now included sleeping in the Slytherin dungeons, Dumbledore redecorating the Chamber of Secrets, and Snape with a new haircut. 

He had been dreaming again, when he did sleep. 

He had dreamt of a boy who could have been his twin, oddly familiar, but not quite like him, tossing and turning and trying to sleep in what must have been the Slytherin dormitory. The beds were four-posters like his own, except the sheets were green and silver where as the Gryffindors were red and gold. Well, that and the conspicuous absence of a warm, friendly fire in the grate. Harry could feel the clammy cool, even when outside it was a bright summer day. It made him shiver, just thinking about it. He would hate to live down there. 

He dreamed of the same almost-self wandering in the cold, cruel-looking Slytherin common room, bending carefully over a book in the library. Always silent and always alone in the deserted school. He wondered what he was dreaming about, what it all meant. He guessed it was an alternate present: one where he was in Slytherin, and miserable, lonely, separated indelibly from his housemates through his struggle with Lord Voldemort and from the rest of the school through his house. But he had never had those dreams before, so he guessed that there was something more to these dreams that he didn't see. But he couldn't fathom it. So he just passed the dreams off as by-products of an idle imagination. 

He dreamed, again and again, of Dumbledore in the Chamber of Secrets, doing all sorts of things. He would be adding shelves and tables and lanterns, making the place appear almost homelike and hospitable, draping cloths over the snake statues, making the roof waterproof and impervious to the drip of the lake above it, drying the pools of water that had accumulated over the years. Even building a fire in a fireplace he had somehow constructed by the Slytherin statue's feet. Harry could almost imagine the look of distaste on the monkey-ish man's face. Fortunately, the monkey-ish man was still a statue, and even in Harry's dreams he remained inanimate. 

He didn't dream of Snape with a haircut. That was one of the few things he was really, truly, thankful for over the few days he spent waiting for his friends. But images Snape getting a really good haircut were idle thoughts that his waking brain scurried upon out of desperation and boredom. They were no less frightening for that. Harry was going stir crazy from the wait. And then, finally, without further notice from anyone at all, it was the day he was supposed to leave. 

At two o'clock in the afternoon, Uncle Vernon unceremoniously unlocked the door and, glaring all the while, made sure that Harry left the house without saying a word to his aunt or cousin. His things had been heaped in front of the door, and were then angrily tossed into Harry's unprepared hands as he was pushed outside. Harry sighed and dragged his school things out the front door and along to the park. He had nowhere else to go. 

After being trapped inside for a month, the sun was harsh and burning – too bright, not how he had imagined and hoped it would be while he idly passed the days in his room. He winced and tried to find some shade in the playground equipment. Finally he sat down, and began picking up woodchips and flinging them around the playground. There were a few young children there, but he paid them no heed, and their parents warned them away from the strange boy. Harry was, once again, left to his thoughts. 

How did he even know that the Weasleys would pick him up? How did he expect to survive if they didn't? He sighed and threw the woodchip a little harder than before. He was getting used to the sun, it was no longer so harsh and bright, and from his seat in the shade he rather liked it. He could feel his eyelids getting heavy – he hadn't slept well all summer, so it was only natural, and before he knew anything he was asleep. 

He didn't dream. 

He was awoken by Hedwig's plaintive hooting. The sun was setting, and he was even more worried that he had somehow missed the Weasleys. He let Hedwig out of her cage and she flew away with an affectionate nip on the finger. Harry sighed and wondered what he would do now. There was no where to go, and somehow he knew that being outside at night wasn't safe, even if there wasn't a Dark Lord out to kill him. He yawned. The order didn't know where Voldemort was, so it was no use worrying – or was it that he had to worry even more since there was no news? 

As long as it wasn't Voldemort, Harry thought, he could handle it just fine. Quidditch had built up his reflexes and even his strength, so that while he couldn't beat Dudley at a fistfight, he could certainly outrun his oaf-ish cousin. And if worst came to worst, he could always… do something about it, he thought, absentmindedly pulling his wand out from his jeans pocket. No one was around to see him stroke the now battered holly stick before putting it back into his pocket. If they had been, surely they would have thought him crazy. 

He vaguely wondered if they would be right. 

He decided he had spent too much time thinking, and that it was potentially not healthy any longer. But then he realised that he had nothing else to do, and went back to thinking again. 

It was darker now, and the streetlights were coming on. Miserably, Harry decided he would need to find someplace to sleep, and preferably not on the ground. He picked up his things again, and slowly trudged around the park, searching for someplace suitable. He ended up in a short, narrow tube that children crawled through, wedged in sideways with his feet protruding out and resting on his trunk. It wasn't very comfortable, but at least it was somewhat sheltered, in the case of rain. He wriggled his way out and sat down on his trunk this time, waiting. It wasn't so late yet – he wasn't ready to sleep. 

But no one came, not even Hedwig, and he grew more tired by the minute. It was almost midnight when he, dozing off, felt a peck at his foot. He looked down to see a snowy owl blinking up at him. Hedwig had returned. He smiled and stroked her head, opening her cage. "Sorry, Hedwig," he mumbled, "I guess we'll have to try to find our friends ourselves." And with that, he settled himself to sleep, feeling very lonely and isolated, and even beginning to pity himself again. 

Away at Privet Drive, something was happening. Of course, no one much knew what it was as all the Muggles who lived on Privet Drive had long since gone to sleep. But a car, a sleek, green Mercedes, crept along the street. The windows were tinted, but in the dark you couldn't tell. A door opened, and a man stepped out. He was tall and lanky, balding, but retaining a few tufts of hair that could be recognised even in the dark as being vivid red. He pulled out a device very much like a cigarette lighter from his pocket, and clicked it a total of seventeen times. Seventeen lights from around the neighbourhood went out. Then he stepped through the gate and proceeded to the front door of number four, Privet Drive. 

Five others followed him. They stood at a distance while the man knocked at the door. 

There was no reply. All the Dursleys were sound asleep. 

The man knocked harder. 

Still no reply. 

This continued for some time. 

Finally, sensing that no wakeful person could sleep through the racket he was causing, Arthur Weasley stepped away from the door and turned to his comrades. "I don't know where he could have gone," he said, worried. "But he isn't here." 

* * *

People were shouting. Harry awoke to people shouting. He tried to sit up, and hit his head rather hard on the top of the narrow tunnel he had wedged himself into for the night. He proceeded to worm his way out, rubbing his skull ruefully. People were shouting. 

It was still dark out, the sun showed no sign of coming up very soon, but people were definitely shouting. And they were shouting his name. "Harry! Harry Potter," said the voices. "Harry!" 

He stood up, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't have slept for more than two hours. He jumped off of the jungle gym and tried to find the source of the voices. "Who's there?" he asked the air. 

"Harry? Is that you?" came a concerned, motherly voice. There were heavy footsteps towards him. He hardly knew what was happening before he was caught in a bear hug. "Oh, Harry, we've found you, finally, you can't imagine the terror you put us through when you weren't at your Aunt and Uncle's house, how could you do that to us? And how could you spend the night out in the open like this, where anyone could just happen upon you and… you know what's going on in the world Harry, you have to be careful…" When he was allowed to breathe again, Harry looked up – to see Mrs. Weasley. She was beaming down at him. 

He supposed that life had just taken a turn for the better. "Sorry," he mumbled, "But I was thrown out, my Uncle told me not to come back until next summer. He was glad to be rid of me. I had asked if you could get me from Mrs. Figg's house – but Ginny owled me to say that you couldn't, so I didn't know what to do…"

Mrs. Weasley just smiled. "Don't worry now, Harry, it's fine – we've found you, haven't we?" She lit the end of her wand to signal that she had found Harry, and soon a crowd gathered – Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, of course, but also Remus Lupin, Tonks, Mad-eye Moody, and Mundungus Fletcher. Harry broke into a grin and let himself be taken into a fierce, powerful group hug. He didn't care that he was outside and uncomfortable, with a pain in his neck from sleeping on his trunk and almost collapsing from sheer exhaustion, he was with his friends. And none of the thousands of thoughts that usually plagued him even entered his mind. 

They escorted him to the street, where a ministry car was waiting to take them back to number 12 Grimmauld Place. 

* * *

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was not the happiest of places in the best of times. However, this was much closer to the worst of times than the old mansion had seen for a very long while. Small improvements had been made: the portrait of Lady Black had finally been taken down so she no longer shrieked whenever woken. Kreacher was gone (having no one left to serve, he ran off to Narcissa Malfoy), and it was obvious that the Order members tried to make the place brighter and happier with their own touches. But it was a hard task to brighten a house that had just lost its last owner, and even Harry's enthusiasm about leaving the Dursleys' was curbed when he entered the solemn and mourning mansion. He wondered how his friends had survived the month here already. 

Mrs. Weasley led him to a room where he found Ron already asleep, and bid him catch what little sleep he still could before the morning. Harry nodded and tried to, but he couldn't. He felt strangely alone, even though his friends and surrogate family surrounded him. Someone was missing and he knew exactly who that someone was. But best not to think about that, he told himself. Better to think of his own life, Harry thought. He was away from the Dursleys' earlier than ever, with wizards and his friends, and today was his birthday. He had been sixteen for three hours now. 

He was better able to fall asleep with those thoughts, and he decided to put off thinking about his godfather for at least until tomorrow. And, with that, he fell asleep. 

Ron was the one to wake him up. He wasn't sure if it was intentional, even. But his best friend shouting "HARRY!" at the top of his lungs woke him very quickly. It wasn't long before a thundering outside the door revealed a groggy, dishevelled Hermione, and a slightly less dishevelled Ginny, both grinning from ear to ear. Ron was the first to speak. "Hey, Hermione, Ginny, look who turned up in the night!" 

Harry smiled and waved meekly, which was all he could manage before he was nearly attacked. What little sleep he had gotten only served to make him feel more tired. 

"Harry! They found you! Where were you? Did you wait at your Aunt and Uncle's house? I hope you did, because Mrs. Figg is on holiday now and couldn't watch you at hers. The grownups were having a fit! You should have seen them. Ron and I were arguing that you could handle yourself and that Mrs. Figg's house would just be a meeting place, but they wanted you under constant supervision. You should have heard--"

"It's alright, Hermione. I was fine, but my Uncle kicked me out. I waited in the park." 

Ron and Ginny were shocked, but Hermione spoke. "In the park? Wasn't that where the Dementors came last year? Harry, you shouldn't have done that. You should have stayed by your Aunt and Uncle's house, where you could have been watched. What if someone had found you before they did? What if you had come face to face with dark wizards?" 

Ron rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he was fine, Hermione. After all, most of the Death Eaters are in Azkaban. And You-know-who isn't stalking Harry at his Aunt and Uncle's house. He's too busy with other things, like finding followers." Hermione sighed. 

There was a pause in the conversation, and no one knew what to say next. They looked between each other, awkward for a moment, until Ginny piped up. "Happy Birthday, Harry." 

It was just about the best birthday present Harry could imagine. 

They went downstairs a few minutes later, ready for more work cleaning up the house during the day. Harry hadn't slept well the night before and he could feel it – his eyes drooped and he almost stumbled down the stairs. However, just as Harry had found himself safely on the ground floor, having crossed the perilous staircase without any great problems, he saw a familiar swish of purple robes and silvery hair that he could have sworn belonged to his headmaster. 

He turned on his heel, and rubbed his eyes for what had to be the fourteenth time that morning. "Professor?" he mumbled. Sure enough, there was Professor Dumbledore, talking amiably to Molly Weasley, about to leave. "Professor!" Harry shouted, this time to get his attention. 

Dumbledore fixed Harry with his gaze. "Yes, Harry?" 

"I have to talk to you," Harry started, "About Occlumency lessons." 

Dumbledore turned back to Mrs. Weasley, and mumbled something. She answered back, equally quietly. They seemed to agree, and Dumbledore turned back to Harry, while Mrs. Weasley turned to her daughter, almost scooping her up and carrying her into the kitchen in an even more protective than usual action. Ginny looked vaguely confused, but was being pulled bodily away, and had little to do or say with any matter at hand. 

Dumbledore cast his gaze upon Ron and Hermione, and, smiling, mentioned that perhaps they should be heading to breakfast. Harry, grateful, turned to Dumbledore. "I've been having dreams, all summer, but I can't tell if they're the kind I have to worry about. It's just…" Harry glanced around, uncomfortable. "Umm…"

"Shall we continue this conversation in a private room, Mr. Potter?" asked Dumbledore. Harry nodded, and was led back up the stairs to a small salon. 


	4. Riddle Me What?

Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon, www.hp-lexicon.org, when writing this chapter.

Author's Note: ashamed laughter Happy New Year… and Easter. The short story is colleges and first semester senior year turned out to be tougher than I thought. The long story is… colleges and first semester senior year turned out to be tougher than I thought and I got caught up with other writing projects along the way. Sorry that this got pushed aside, I feel very guilty about it. Thanks go to Fantome (Thank you thank you thank you! You'll find out who it is in this chapter, so I won't tell you here) and Meinien (I feel rather bad for not following your one request, but I suppose better late than never).

Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 4: Riddle Me What?

Harry followed Dumbledore into the dark, plush antechamber with stained oak walls and a maroon carpet, and sat down in one of the satin-upholstered seats. He had never seen the room before; it had probably only recently been cleaned of dark creatures. He eyed Dumbledore cautiously as the elderly wizard pulled another softly cushioned chair into place near Harry and sat down. The old man's eyes were twinkling slightly sadly, and he sighed comfortably as he sat down. "What is it you have to say to me, Harry?" he asked.

Harry was suddenly vaguely embarrassed at having demanded a private interview with his headmaster. He looked down at his scuffed trainers, took a deep breath and decided that, being in, he might as well continue. However, come to think of it, he didn't much want to talk about his dreams – they were probably merely the products of an overactive imagination, what was the purpose of bothering Dumbledore any more than needed? He racked his brain for another question while staring at the carpet beneath his shoes. "Well, Professor McGonagall said you would be teaching me Occlumency this year, and I was just wondering, well, I mean…" Really, this didn't seem too good an idea at all come to think of it.

Dumbledore smiled, and his smile sparkled in his eyes. "Professor McGonagall has been your stalwart supporter all summer, Harry. Your private tutoring lessons with her will start the first week of school, and as for your lessons with me," here Dumbledore paused momentarily, "I will tell you when those shall begin."

Harry nodded slowly. "About the Occlumency lessons," he said, avoiding the topic that weighed on his mind, refusing to think about his dreams. "Snape, when he was trying to teach me, he made me feel even weaker than before." Harry winced at the thought of the dreams he had had after those lessons with Snape, and even more at the memories he had had to relive and worse, see. This might be worse than his real problem. "Was he hurting me?" he asked, weakly. "Or are they always like that?"

"After testing your Occlumency ability, it will of course be weaker," responded Dumbledore with a slight smile. "Imagine if you were training for Quidditch. The first few practices leave you sore and weak, but slowly you gain strength and endurance." Harry was surprised that Dumbledore would choose Quidditch as his analogy, but he supposed that even his headmaster had been young once, and it was possible he had played the game as a younger man. Dumbledore continued after clearing his throat. "However, even after the hardest Quidditch practices, you can walk. If you felt uncomfortably weak after a lesson, it is possible that Snape was pushing you harder than strictly necessary. I will try not to be so hard on you, Harry." Dumbledore smiled genially, but his eyes never quite lost their shadows.

Harry smiled gratefully, and decided to put his mind at ease about Occlumency lessons. Dumbledore had explained some of Harry's weakness following the lessons, and it was entirely possible Snape was, in fact, pushing him harder than needed. Or maybe Snape was even trying to hurt Harry, if subconsciously. This was Snape, after all, the greasy haired Potions professor. Which brought Harry back, uncomfortably, to his latest dreams of Dumbledore and Snape discussing objects in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry's face must have darkened because Dumbledore spoke. "Harry, is there something you would like to tell me?" he asked.

It was asked just the way Dumbledore had asked it in Harry's second year, as if to say 'I know you have something to tell me, what is it?' Harry took another deep breath. It was a difficult subject, but after all he might ask. Dumbledore wouldn't humiliate him, wouldn't criticize him for believing the dream might be real. His grandfatherly headmaster would thank Harry for considering it and talking to him first. "Professor… over the summer, I've been having more dreams. I've been dreaming about the Chamber of Secrets, and you've been in it. Whenever I awoke, my scar would hurt. Are they just normal dreams, or have I you actually been in the Chamber? If you have, I think Voldemort might know too – or how else would I know?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly, carefully, considering what he was going to say. Harry wished his headmaster would just tell him the truth, but decided to take whatever he could get. "Yes, Harry," Dumbledore began. Harry stared in mute astonishment. What he had seen – Dumbledore in the Chamber of Secrets – was true, then. Dumbledore continued. "The Hogwarts professors and I have been disenchanting the Chamber of Secrets. I haven't found anything overly dangerous there, and most of the spells have been taken off already. I hope to move the Order's headquarter into the Chamber as soon as possible – after all, what better place than that? It's within easy access of the school, completely hidden and inaccessible, and with a password we can seal it off except to Order members. Most importantly, we will be out of this old house. Poor Remus can't come near it anymore, and I'm surprised the Weasleys are holding up so well."

Move the Order headquarters? Harry understood the motivation, and Dumbledore's impulse to draw his friends and supporters closer to himself made sense, but Harry had a feeling in his gut that moving the Order was not a good idea. What if Voldemort found out? Grimmauld place was impossible to find unless Dumbledore led you to it, what better hiding place could there be? And perhaps more importantly, if Voldemort didn't know, why this prophetic dream all of a sudden? If his scar hurt wasn't that a sign that Voldemort was involved? "But then… Voldemort, he must have seen you in there, or else I wouldn't have been able to. It's dangerous, Professor." Harry looked up at his teacher and realized the foolishness of what he was saying, warning Dumbledore of the danger of what he was doing. Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of the era, the only man Voldemort had feared, who singlehandedly protected Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from the Dark Lord and the Ministry at once, for almost a year. Who was little Harry Potter to tell him what was too dangerous?

But Dumbledore merely smiled. "With the wards up around the school, it would be as hard for Voldemort to get into the Chamber of Secrets as it would for him to get into any area of the school. I have been able to protect the students these many years. The Order will be perfectly safe, Harry."

Harry, slightly abashed, looked down at the floor again. "Thank you," he mumbled, "That's all I had to ask." The carpeting was a dark wine-red, perfect for hiding stains. Then again, this rug probably cleaned itself – it wouldn't matter what you spilled on it, or what color it was.

Dumbledore stood up, the chair creaking behind him. Harry stood to follow. "Oh, and one last thing, Harry," Dumbledore remarked as he held the door for Harry. "I did find something of interest in the Chamber – a boy, your age, named Tom Marvolo Riddle. He's enrolled in Hogwarts this year – your year, I believe, as a Slytherin, and he's taken up the name Ophicus Serpens Marvolo. I would request that you treat him with the utmost respect and cordiality, as it has come to my attention that he is quite a separate entity from the Dark Lord." Harry stopped in his tracks, a few steps away from Dumbledore, a look of shock on his face. Tom Riddle not related to the Dark Lord? Dumbledore had been the one to confirm that they were one and the same. Dumbledore motioned for him to leave the room, adding, as a comfort, "You have nothing to fear from him."

Harry forced his stunned feet to move and slowly stepped out of the room and into the corridor beyond. Dumbledore followed and silently closed the door, and they retreated to the main hall. The elderly Professor called out his goodbyes and Harry trudged into the kitchen, not sure whether to be happy or fearful after his discussion with Dumbledore about the Chamber.

Given Dumbledore's final comment, Harry supposed he knew who that boy he had dreamed about was, the boy in Slytherin. Even Tom Riddle himself had remarked on the physical similarities between Harry and the teenaged Dark Lord. Harry supposed that Tom could spend the summer at Hogwarts – something he himself would have given anything to do but had always been forbidden. Harry sighed with jealousy. Why wasn't it Harry staying at Hogwarts for the summer? Something in the back of his head shouted; "How come Tom Riddle always gets the best of everything?"

When he entered the kitchen, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting at the table, gloomily picking at their breakfasts. Mrs. Weasley was scurrying about, preparing more food for the probably soon-to-be-arriving members of the Order of the Phoenix. Lupin followed, helping where needed but mostly just getting in the way. Harry smiled weakly before joining his friends at the table for breakfast. "I need to talk to you guys," he said, mainly to Ron and Hermione. They nodded but said nothing.

Soon, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus joined them and all inhabitants of number 12 Grimmauld Place were eating breakfast, subdued and quiet. The somber air of the house weighed their hearts, stifled their comments. Even Tonks' unusually bright purple hair did nothing to lighten the atmosphere.

Mrs. Weasley spoke up first. "Ginny," she said, slowly and evenly, trying to sound placating, "What would you think of going somewhere over Christmas holiday?" Behind her a small ornament over the sink swung and bobbed, as if in appreciation of the idea. She had done her best to decorate the kitchen, probably voiding the Weasley home of most of its trinkets to fill the spacious, gloomy room in the Black house. The counters, where not messy with the grime of a newly prepared meal, were cluttered with brightly colored knick-knacks in a vain attempt at cheer.

Ginny looked up and shrugged. "Why don't you ask Ron?" She responded with a yawn before looking down at her eggs and prodding them with a fork.

"He'll probably want to stay over at Hogwarts, he's done that for the past few years," Mrs. Weasley responded, visibly pained. There was something she didn't want to say while everyone was there. Harry could wager a guess as to what it was, given her conversation with Dumbledore before anyone else was awake. He glanced between Mrs. Weasley's concerned face and Ginny's obliviously blank expression. Unless Mrs. Weasley told her daughter what was going on, this quiet wouldn't last very much longer, and Harry wasn't even sure that telling Ginny to expect Tom Riddle would help matters.

"So has Ginny stayed over at Hogwarts," Ron commented foolishly through her food. He probably thought he was avoiding a difficult decision, but Mrs Weasley shot him a quick glance that hushed him quickly. "But maybe she'd like to travel?" he ventured, trying to redeem himself in his mother's eyes. It only made matters worse; Ginny herself picked up on the game.

She glared at Ron and then turned to her mother. "Yeah, mum, so have I stayed over at Hogwarts." She put down her fork, focusing on her her mother instead of her meal.

"I just thought," Mrs. Weasley began, almost hurt, "That you would be a tad homesick, what with being the only girl and all…" She turned back to the sink and began cleaning up, defensively, before realizing that the dishes were washing themselves and fluttering about in a self-imposed flutter.

"I'm the only girl at home," Ginny corrected, now frustrated. "There are plenty of other girls at Hogwarts." She paused, but her mother said nothing in response. "If you want me to come home, then tell me the real reason, mum."

Mrs. Weasley winced, visibly pained by the thought of telling her daughter the real reason. Harry glanced around – who in the room could it have been that didn't already know of the horrors that passed in Harry's second year? But, come to think of it, they hadn't told a soul, so perhaps even the Order members didn't know Ginny herself was involved. "It's… it's nothing," she said with a glance that tried to convey it but failed miserably. "Your father and I just want you to come home for the holidays, so… we can be sure you're safe." She prodded her husband.

Mr. Weasley perked up, "It's dark times, Ginny." He added, on cue. "We're worried about our little girl. Is that allowed?" He smiled weakly.

Ginny squinted, but then shrugged. "I'll be perfectly safe at Hogwarts, mum. Dumbledore can protect me, just like all the other students. Don't worry." She tried to brush it off as parental worry and turned briefly back to her plate, but something bothered her and she furrowed her brow.

"She's right, Molly," Mad-Eye Moody quipped. "There isn't any safer place than Hogwarts School for a child. Dumbledore keeps close watch over his territory. And who knows – maybe we'll be closer to the school ourselves this year." He winked.

Harry looked instinctively to the other order members, none of who seemed to have moved at all at Mad-Eye's hint. Ron jabbed him in the arm. "What's that all about, Harry? Closer to the school?" he hissed.

"I'll tell you after breakfast," Harry responded, and turned back to the conversation.

"Ginny, it shall be such fun," Mrs. Weasley continued, ignoring Mad-Eye completely and walking over to her daughter. "We can go and visit Charlie."

Sighing, Ginny turned back to face Mrs. Weasley. "Mum, we don't have the money for that…" she began, and paused. "And besides, I don't want to leave school. I'd rather spend my holidays at Hogwarts."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Ginny, I'm sorry but we really have to put our foot down. You're coming home, you'll be safer closer to us." There was an awkward pause and no one said anything. "It's for your own good."

Ginny glared, shocked. "And what about Ron?"

"He'll be fine at the school. You don't understand, dearie, we worry about a little girl like you…"

Ginny stood up, furious. "I'm not a little girl, mum. I'm fifteen years old. But you seem to have forgotten that!" She left the room in a storm.

For a moment there was awkward silence. Then, "I'm done," chimed Ron cheerfully, and carried his and Ginny's plates to the kitchen to be washed. Hermione shook her head but followed reluctantly, motioning for Harry to come along as well. None of them breathed until they were upstairs and away from the adults. "That was getting intense," exhaled Ron.

Hermione nodded in agreement as the three sat down around the room. "Get your OWL results, Harry?" she asked. Ron groaned. He had probably been getting quite a bit of this lately.

Harry nodded. "Good enough to become an Auror, what more could I want?" Ron grinned and Hermione smiled, but neither said anything. "Not as good as yours, Hermione, I hear. How many did you get?"

"She got ten," Ron cut in, "Astronomy, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, History of Magic, Transfiguration, Herbology,_ and Muggle Studies._"

Harry blinked. "But you're not in the Muggle Studies class, why did you take the exam?"

"It could never hurt," Hermione responded, blushing. "You never know when that sort of accreditation could be useful – and I didn't have to do much extra studying, having lived as a Muggle and all." She trailed off, embarrassed.

"All Exceeds Expectations, of course. Hermione, I think spending time with you is enough to give anyone self-esteem issues." Ron smiled as he said it, and clearly didn't mean it too harshly. "I only got seven, myself. Flunked Potions – Snape would have been proud, in whatever way Snape is ever proud." He laughed ruefully. Harry smiled but Hermione looked up from the floor.

"Ron, that's no way to improve your potions skill," she chided. "If I were you, I would be going in for extra help to get better. The ability to mix potions is a valuable skill that you're letting drop simply because you have a penchant against Snape…"

But both Ron and Harry were staring at her, so she realized it was futile.

There was a dull roar from below and two voices could be heard. Mrs. Weasley must have finally found Ginny, and they were fighting fiercely enough to bring down the house. Hermione stood up and went to the door, but the shouts stopped, and seconds later Ginny streaked past the door, sobbing.

It didn't take long for Mrs. Weasley to catch up. She popped her head in. "Did Ginny come this way?" she asked. Hermione nodded numbly, still in shock. "That girl is going to get hurt one of these days, and we won't be around to protect her…" she said, turning back. "One of you go try and talk some sense into her; she's impossible when she gets like this."

Mrs. Weasley left and Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in silence for a minute or two, still stupefied by the explosive argument.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked, finally.

Harry knew he would have to tell his friends eventually, but he didn't know exactly what to say now that the event had come to pass. "They're all in a fluster about the Chamber of Secrets – they've found Tom Riddle."

Sure enough, the plan of just telling them the truth without background failed miserably. "What?" demanded Hermione and Ron in unison.

Harry hardly knew how to begin. "I've been having dreams lately," he tried, "Dreams that the teachers have been down in the Chamber of Secrets." He wasn't sure it was relevant but he also wasn't sure he cared. It was as good a starting place as any.

Neither Ron nor Hermione asked him why this was important, they seemed grateful that they were getting some information, and grateful not to be sitting in the now awkward silence. "Why would they be there?" queried Hermione.

"I asked Dumbledore that, and he said that he was trying to convert it to a new Order headquarters. This one has too many…" Harry paused, the thought was still painful to him. "Too many memories. And the Chamber is just as secure: the only entrance into it is through the school. So that's what Moody was talking about – they might be closer to the school this year. They might be in the school this year."

Ron nodded slowly. "That all makes sense, or at least almost, but what does it have to do with Ginny, or Tom Riddle?"

"That's the other part of it," Harry responded. "When they were looking through the Chamber, they found Riddle." He said it as quickly, as offhandedly, as he could manage. He supposed it wasn't particularly calmly. Ron stared, again shocked.

Hermione gasped and then furrowed her brow. "What happened? Is he in Azkaban?"

Harry shook his head. "No. He's enrolling in classes," he responded, hardly believing himself.

Ron was staring blankly at Harry, leaving Hermione to do all the responding. Hermione was still obviously confused. "But isn't he Voldemort?"

"Apparently not," Harry explained, "Dumbledore says he's harmless. I haven't even said the worst part - he's not just enrolling in classes, but he's enrolling in our year." Realization dawned on Hermione's face. They would probably have classes with him. The idea of sitting through a potions class with Malfoy and Riddle was more than Harry thought he could bear right then.

They were silent for a minute or two while the idea sunk in, and then Ron laughed. "I suppose he and Malfoy will get along famously, birds of a feather and all." He stood. "But has Dumbledore gone of his rocker? Harmless, Riddle is the Dark Lord!"

Harry shrugged, "Dumbledore said something about that not being true – but I don't know whether I trust him or not. This is Riddle we're talking about after all. In any case, it explains why your mother wants Ginny home for the holidays. She'll probably campaign for the weekends as well."

"Someone should tell Ginny," Hermione said. "Where is she?"

"Dunno," answered Ron, "She could be anywhere in the house now, she was moving so fast. We should find her." He looked to Hermione, slightly afraid.

"Yeah…" Hermione mumbled, looking out into the hallway, now shadowed and infested with Merlin knew what strange creatures that had not yet been purged from the centuries-old house.

Harry stepped towards the doorway. Neither Ron nor Hermione moved. "You coming?" he asked.

"You can handle this one," Ron answered. "We'd be useless, Harry. We only know what you've told us."

Harry looked out into the deserted corridor. "Ron, are you afraid of the house?"

"No, no, of course not…" Ron mumbled in response.

"It's Ginny we're afraid of," offered Hermione, not too convincingly. "She was so furious, who knows how she'll take the news."

"She's been touchy all summer," Ron added. "Dunno why. She brightened up a bit when they went to find you, though. Maybe she won't get as angry if you tell her."

Harry was uncertain, but he knew that somehow Ginny had to be told of the news, so he stepped into the darkened corridor, tentatively searching for the small girl, following her hysterical path of just a few minutes ago. She could be anywhere in the house. Harry gulped. This was one house he didn't want to have to search alone.


	5. Guilt and Forgiveness

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon, www.hp-lexicon.org, when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** So much for regular updates, but somehow I don't much care, so long as I continue this story. Thanks to Fantome, Lady Riddle, and Chucky1982, whose friendly reviews touched my heart and spurred me on.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 5: Guilt and Forgiveness**

Harry took one slow, anxious, terrified step into the deep shadows of the hallway. Nothing attacked him. He took another timid footfall forward, still no violence. He gulped down a breath, jutted his chin forward, and strode confidently down the corridor he, Ron, and Hermione had seen Ginny race down a few minutes before; so far, safety. He breathed again. He had seen the house from the street; it wasn't all that big – he would find Ginny in no time.

He was on the fifth story when he realised that magical houses, especially in the city, are probably almost always magically expanded. His mind flew back to the magically enlarged tents he and the Weasleys had used in the summer before his fourth year when they saw the Quidditch World Cup – full-sized apartments with cloth walls. He shook his head ruefully. Already he had had to fight off a swarm of Doxies when he walked too near a set of curtains, and he was afraid that the bump on his left hand would turn out to be a bite. He wondered how strong Doxy venom was. Hopefully Ginny would have antidote. "Ginny?!" he shouted, hoping that she would hear and give him some hint as to where she was.

There was no responding sound, but a door down the hallway was open and light flickered from it. He approached, wand drawn. Who knew what it could be; in this house Doxies infesting the curtains were the least of their troubles. "Hello?" he called, into the room. Someone was talking, but he couldn't make out any of the words. Speech was probably a bad sign, Harry decided, for while it could be Ginny it could also be a hundred other, more dangerous things – and Ginny would have answered by now, right? Harry stepped closer, two steps from the room. "Hello? Ginny, is that you?"

The voice went silent. There was a sound of movement in the room, and Harry stepped back. Whatever was moving didn't sound human, the footfalls were too heavy and they made a scratching sound on the wooden floor that couldn't be any kind of shoe. Harry clutched his wand instinctively; preparing to hex whatever it was preparing to come out of the room. It appeared at the doorway. Harry froze.

Whatever it was regarded him with familiar, burning, reddish eyes. "Who is it?" Harry asked, fearing the worst and taking a step forward. But those weren't the red eyes he saw in his nightmares, those were more orange, more birdlike, and without the malice. In the dim, he made out a shape – that of an eagle's torso with a horse's tail. Suddenly he remembered where he had seen the eyes before. It was Buckbeak. Shaking with relief, he bowed deeply to the Hippogriff, who promptly bowed in return. Ginny appeared behind him. "Oh, it's only you, Harry. You can come in." Buckbeak moved aside and Harry stepped into the bright room.

Being inside, however, Harry suddenly didn't know what to tell Ginny. "They're looking for you downstairs," he began, voice trembling, caught between his sudden relief at finding Ginny and his apprehension about telling her what was going on.

She didn't turn to look at him, but stepped toward the fire instead, staring into its flames. "Are you here to lecture me?" she snapped, grabbing a poker and jabbing at the logs vindictively. "Tell me to do what my parents say even when it's ridiculous?"

Harry sat down near the fire. "No. I'm here to explain why your parents would be saying what they are, even if it seems ridiculous now."

There was a short pause, but before Harry could work up the nerve to tell Ginny what he had heard from Dumbledore, Ginny turned to stare at him. "It _is_ ridiculous to want me to stop my Hogwarts education at this point – just before OWLs? I don't care what reasoning they said they had."

Harry sighed. "I didn't hear it from your mother, she didn't say anything about the subject other than the fact that she would let you steam up here rather than face you. I heard it from Dumbledore himself. Tom's back." He wasn't sure how else to say it, except repeating it. "Tom Riddle is back."

Ginny's angry glare turned to a blank gaze of astonishment. "Tom?" she whispered. "You're joking." She quickly turned back to the fire, looking almost embarrassed. "You must be joking."

Harry shook his head, feeling sorry for the girl. "I wish I was. But Dumbledore promised me it was true – Tom Riddle is back at Hogwarts, in my year. He must have told your mother when he talked to her before breakfast. That's why she wants you to stay home – to protect you." Of course, Mrs. Weasley had at first said that her reasoning was to protect her young daughter from the forces that were in the world, but everyone had passed that off as merely Mrs. Weasley being overly cautious in regards to the Dark Lord everyone knew about, not his teenaged version attending Hogwarts school.

Ginny turned her gaze back at the fire. "They can't keep me home… It's my own fault…" she muttered. "I should have to suffer for it, if anyone. I should have to handle it." The comments weren't directed to Harry, but he heard them anyway.

Mind jumping to the incident with the diary in his second year, he quickly inserted, "I think this is somehow different." However, not having anything to back that up with, he continued on to something else. "And besides, even if it was your fault, it doesn't mean you should put yourself in extra danger for it."

She turned once again to stare at him. "You're one to be talking, Mr. Potter." Her mouth was twitching at the side; she was trying not to laugh. "Or perhaps you've heard that so many times it's been ingrained on your brain. Though I've never seen you actually follow that rule."

"I never asked for it…" Harry began, and then finished with, "I never made myself more of a target. Going to Hogwarts would be just that – flaunting the enemy in the face."

Ginny shrugged, the laughter now gone from her face. "Maybe you're right… Maybe it would be better if I just stayed home, out of harm's way." She stared into the fire and sighed.

Harry, seeing the look of extreme disappointment and guilt on her face, suddenly felt the incredible urge to convince her otherwise. Ginny Weasley belonged at Hogwarts, and with the Order coming back to the school she would be as safe there as anywhere, even if Tom Riddle took classes. "But Dumbledore told me that this Tom is a different version – not the same teenaged Dark Lord. Maybe we're just overreacting to the name." Ginny nodded numbly, almost not hearing. "You'd learn so much more at Hogwarts, it would be better for you. I can't imagine staying in this house for the entire year," he added.

Ginny nodded again, numbly, but whispered, "But I can't go if Tom's there… It's too dangerous…"

Harry shook his head. "It's just as dangerous for me, if he really is You-Know-Who in disguise," he said, "And I'm going back. Besides, like you said, I've searched out danger – or danger has searched me out – every year I've been at Hogwarts, and I haven't died yet. You'll be fine."

Ginny smiled a little. "I guess you're right…" she said softly. "And what about Moody with his comment about being closer to the school than before?"

Harry almost hit himself for not telling Ginny about that sooner. "They're converting the Chamber of Secrets," he responded. "That's how Dumbledore found Tom – he was hiding in the Chamber, asleep or something. He wants to use the Chamber as a new order headquarters. So your parents will be in the school too, if all goes as planned."

Ginny let herself really smile again. "Mum's worried even though the Order will be there to protect me?" she laughed. "If that's all, she'll get over it." There was a pause in the conversation, and Ginny turned back to the fire. Finally, she frowned and commented, "Why didn't anyone tell me about this?"

"No one thought to, probably. We only heard this morning," Harry commented. "And I just told Ron and Hermione, I don't think any of the adults know we know about it at all – except Dumbledore, that is."

"They treat us like such babies here," Ginny grumbled. "Mum and Dad still haven't realised that I'm not a little child anymore. They don't tell us anything, even though it's always you who saves the world, and whenever anyone has helped you, it hasn't been an adult. Everyone knows you have to defeat You-Know-Who, but I don't think they talk to you either."

Harry nodded, staring into the fire. "Not much. But I find out what I need, mostly. I was angry with Dumbledore all last year that he wouldn't tell me anything, but I realised that it wasn't too useful to be angry. It doesn't get you anywhere, and it's better to be on Dumbledore's side than somewhere against him, especially if being angry with Dumbledore means you have to fight someone like Voldemort alone."

Ginny nodded slowly. "I… I just… I just wish they didn't treat me like such a little girl. I'm not the same person I was in my first year," she insisted. Harry sighed. He hoped he hadn't been like this last year. He supposed he probably had. He had probably been worse, come to think of it.

"They're looking out for your best interests," he said, but Ginny just frowned harder at that. He paused, uncertain, and she didn't say anything, just glowered at the fire.

"Who are they to dictate what my best interests are?" she whispered.

Finally Harry snapped. He really hoped he wasn't like this last year. "They're your parents, and they're talented witches and wizards who care about you." Finding this too diplomatic, he added, "Maybe you're not the same person you were in first year," he commented, "But you're certainly acting like you could be." Ginny turned her glared to him, but shock seemed to be breaking through her shell a little. "If you want them to treat you like an adult, then grow up."

At that, Ginny was shocked silent for a few moments, but then slowly nodded, her face relaxing. After a minute or two of watching the fire die down, she spoke up. "What's it like," she asked, "Not being a prefect?"

Harry almost laughed. "As opposed to all the other times you haven't been a prefect? It's pretty much the same old thing. You weren't chosen?" Harry hadn't known the Hogwarts letters had come – he thought he would have gotten one had they arrived already.

Ginny shook her head. "We don't know yet, do we? I mean the letters haven't come. But I doubt it. I keep telling mum that Amelia's going to be prefect – she's in my year, almost as frighteningly studious as Hermione is – but mum's confident it will be me, and probably just because she's my mother. I can't stand the thought of her face when she finds out it isn't me. It almost makes me wish I'd worked harder, beaten out Amelia." Ginny sighed. "I suppose I've failed, ashamed her."

Harry shook his head. "You don't know yet, and like they told me last year, you can still be Head Girl." This Harry did remember – the blow of not being named a prefect was a severe one, he had wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, presumably become a prefect and then Head Boy, since all he knew about his father's footsteps was that he had been Head Boy. Fortunately for him, James Potter hadn't been named a prefect either, albeit for different reasons, Harry supposed. "And besides, if you think you have to be prefect in order to merit your mother's love, you're wrong. She might be a bit disappointed and very loud, but I'm sure she won't be ashamed of you."

Ginny nodded slowly. "I suppose so," she began, and then paused. "I'm just afraid that they'll go back to treating me like a porcelain doll – I was afraid Dumbledore had told her I wasn't to be a prefect, and she was babying me for that. You don't understand that – no one's ever babied you."

Harry stood up, angry again. It was all right to feel badly, but this exaggeration was out of hand. "That's a blatant lie," he exclaimed. "They didn't tell me anything last year, dubiously for my own protection, and I almost died because of it." _Sirius did die because of it,_ he thought, but he didn't say that. "Dumbledore told me it was because he _loved me_ too much."

Ginny laughed ruefully, but the comments didn't knock the look on her face – the look that said she knew more about suffering than he did. "Funny how that works, I guess. He loved you too much to do the right thing by you." She looked toward Buckbeak, though, and was suddenly silent. "Do you blame yourself," she asked.

There was an awkward silence between them, and Harry sat back down. "I guess so. I try not to," he responded. He fell silent and she had nothing more to say. His hand was throbbing badly, and he looked down at the now swollen bump.

Ginny must have seen it too, because she jumped up. "Is that a Doxy bite?" Harry nodded. "Harry, why didn't you say anything? Those can get vicious if you don't get antidote!" She picked up a bottle and a spoon from the mantelpiece and read the back before handing it to Harry. "It says just one spoonful, but since you've left the bite untreated so long, I'd take two."

Harry poured out two spoonfuls and swallowed both of them. The antidote tasted wretched, but the swelling on his hand stopped and the colour returned to normal. He could still see the bite, slowly receding into his skin.

"Thanks," he responded. Ginny sat back down.

"Those can be nasty, keep you in bed for a week, if they aren't treated. I've even heard of children dying from them," she commented. As the flurry of movement, getting Harry the antidote, ended, Harry couldn't help but find his thoughts wandering back to Sirius. He wasn't allowing himself to think about that, he reminded himself, but it did no good.

"It feels strange," Ginny commented, "Using his home like this. But I suppose it's the safest place, and until Dumbledore prepares the Chamber, it's the only option." Harry nodded and grunted in recognition, sinking further into his hole – this house was miserable without its owner.

Ginny must have seen his anguish, because she stood again. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't mean to…" but she couldn't even finish her sentence before Harry jumped in.

"Don't worry about me. I'll deal with it or I won't, but it's no one else's problem," he answered, harsher than he meant to be. Ginny looked shocked, as though she wanted to say something, but decided against it.

"Well," she responded, uncomfortable and put-out, "I suppose I should go downstairs and apologise for scaring people like this – they probably don't know where I was. I'll tell them you're safe. Stay away from the curtains on your way down, the Doxies won't bite if you're careful." With that, and a nod to Buckbeak, she was gone. Harry sighed. He hadn't wanted to scare her away – not really.

He looked over at the Hippogriff and smiled weakly. "Do you miss him too, Buck?" he asked. Buckbeak stared at him with knowing eyes, but could say nothing. "I know I do." There were scars on the Hippogriff's legs, probably from whatever Kreacher had done to him. "But it isn't your fault…" Harry mumbled.

The Hippogriff took a step forward and Harry looked again into its eyes. There was no fault involved, the eyes seemed to say, what is simply is. "I wanted to save him," Harry answered, defensive to himself only now. "That's all I wanted – to save him." Buckbeak bent down in a solemn bow to Harry and Harry, shocked, stood and returned the gesture. "I guess everyone knows that," he whispered, but he couldn't stop the tear from rolling down his cheek. "I'm the only one who doesn't."

He sat down again, moving next to Buckbeak because the room was growing colder – perhaps a storm was brewing? He said nothing for a while, listening as the rain began on the roof and trickled down the gutters. Finally, he spoke. "I suppose Kreacher left, I haven't seen him. Probably defected to the Malfoys or some rotten pureblood family." Here Buckbeak snorted with much the same emotion that Harry felt. "That means this house isn't safe anymore, not for much longer anyway, for any of us. I suppose that's why they're moving into the Chamber – they need a new location." Talking to Buckbeak was relaxing, for although he could tell the beast was sentient and intelligent, no one would talk back. "Besides, this house is unliveable without him here, the darkness just took over the place. I imagine the very floorboards are revolting at the idea of being inhabited by Order members, not a single one of them a Black." Buckbeak shifted his weight to the side, agitated. "I'm sure you can come with, live at Hogwarts again." Suddenly Harry saw the fault in his logic. "Well, I wish you could. Hagrid would be glad to see you, at least." Harry attempted a weak smile. "You'll see… soon enough everything will be over, and Voldemort will be gone." _Or I'll be gone,_ passed through Harry's head, and because no one except Buckbeak was around, he said it. "Either that or I'll be gone. But in either case it stops bothering me, right?"

There was a threatening rumble in Buckbeak's throat that conveyed all too clearly what Buck's opinion about Harry joking about the Dark Lord was. "Okay. Sorry. It's just… how else are we going to keep cheerful? If I can't joke about it, it just looms over me." Buck stiffened and gave a proud sniff. "Stiff upper lip, you say. Well, that's easier said than done, is all," Harry finished. "But I guess all I can do is try."

Buck stood, and looked to the doorway. Harry realised he was being dismissed and approached it himself, bowing deeply to Buckbeak and intoning, "Thank you." The Hippogriff bowed back, and Harry turned to leave, carrying the Doxy antidote with him, and tiptoeing down the hallway to avoid the pests.


	6. Talking to Walls and Riding on Trains

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon, , when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** This is the last chapter before they get onto the Hogwarts train, so more Tom soon. Don't worry. And once we get to Hogwarts the fic will become much more Tom- centric, much more Ginny-centric, and much less Harry-centric… but it's all so much better set up with this beginning, somehow. Thanks to: HadasL (I'm not that ignorant, you'll see the explanation soon enough.), Fantome (Glad you liked it), Pixie (Yes, Ophicus, the snake bearer), P-oenix, and 'in awe' for your kind reviews. Hope you like the sixth chapter!

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 6: Talking to Walls and Riding on Trains**

Harry reached the bedroom he shared with Ron without further event, and he slipped in and sunk onto the floor with a sigh of relief. He was feeling happier, more comfortable than he had lately. A calm had slid over him while talking to Buckbeak. It was good to talk to something that wouldn't talk back, Harry decided. He supposed it was why people liked Diaries. They didn't judge. And surely, Buck must have missed Sirius just as much as he did.

Ron wasn't in the room, probably at lunch Harry realised as his stomach churned. He thought of going downstairs but didn't want to face the entire family just then, he had a vague sense that that would spoil his good mood, so he waited in the room wondering when Ron would return from the meal. For the first time in a long time Harry felt safe, serene, and satisfied.

And soon the Hogwarts letters would be coming and he would go off for another year at Hogwarts. It only went up from here. He looked down at his hand; a scab was forming where the Doxy bite had been. At least he wasn't feeling the effects of the venom any longer.

It struck him as odd that he hadn't realised the inborn problem with this house now that Kreacher was gone. Sirius had even told him, last year, that he couldn't just dismiss Kreacher because the house elf knew too much about the Order. It would be very dangerous to have the elf in Malfoy manor, especially since the Malfoys probably knew exactly where the ancient house of Black used to be, as all pure-blooded families were interconnected. The neighbourhood was no longer safe, and the only thing between the Order and the Death Eaters was Dumbledore's secrecy charm.

That would never wear off, fortunately, but the truth of the matter was that walking outside, even for the short period of time necessary to move from one place to another, required more security measures than ever before. It was lucky the ministry was on their side now, if reluctantly.

At least, having come to the house in a ministry car, Harry thought that the ministry and the Order were allies. He looked around the room for a newspaper, but could find none. Hermione would have a copy, he would ask her to see it when she came back from lunch. He supposed that the articles about his descent into insanity would be vastly reduced, as Fudge could no longer deny the fact that Lord Voldemort was back.

He wondered if Professor Umbridge would be back this year. He guessed, after what had happened with the Centaurs, whatever that had been, the last thing she would want was to be reinstated as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He wondered if Lupin would be allowed to come back. He figured he would have known that, Lupin would have said something. So it was probably someone new. Harry sighed. Everyone thought that position was cursed – no intelligent wizard would take it unless they had another reason to want to come to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that reason almost indubitably related to him. He hoped this year the new teacher wouldn't be a spy for Voldemort.

One would think that with all the power Dumbledore had, he wouldn't have been hoodwinked into allowing a servant of the Dark Lord to receive a teaching position at Hogwarts. But evidently the interview process did not include "do you align yourself with Lord Voldemort" as a question, as twice before Harry's very teachers had turned out to be his enemies. Or maybe Dumbledore was just desperate.

All the same, it didn't make sense to accept Death Eaters, or even bumbling idiots like Lockhart, into the post. Then again, Dumbledore did have trust in Snape.

Harry didn't know how that was possible. Snape had as good as killed Sirius when he didn't take Harry seriously about his dream. Had he gone to find the order immediately… but Harry stopped his thought there because, in all reality, the end would have been exactly the same. Like Nearly Headless Nick had said, Sirius would not have let the Order leave without going with them. This was how Sirius wanted to die, even if it wasn't the right time.

Harry sighed. This was certainly not what he wanted to be thinking about, but it was, in some ways, a relief to be able to think it, to be able to search for closure. Maybe some time soon he'd be able to talk about his Godfather with his friends. Hermione and Ron probably missed Sirius as well, even though they couldn't feel the same as Harry did with caring parents of their own. He wondered if they could ever understand. He didn't know if they'd ever understand what it was to loose your parents – twice – but more than that he was sure they wouldn't understand that his life, like it or not, had to end in murder. But he was sure that they would try, in some strange way. He knew that Hermione would always try to come up with another plan, and Ron would suggest as many cockamamie schemes as it took until they found one that might not be so unlikely after all. That settled it in Harry's mind. He would tell them.

"Hey, Harry!" called Ron upon entering the room, smiling with excitement and joy. "What did you say to Ginny? She's completely back to normal!"

Maybe some other time. "I just explained the situation to her," Harry commented, unsure of exactly what else Ron thought he would have said.

"Oh," Ron answered, less than impressed. "Well, whatever you said it worked like magic. She and mum are in the kitchen right now, discussing this like calm human beings. The entire order thanks you." He grinned, not too subtly. "Honestly, mate, you're the only one who can calm her down. You should have seen it. She came walking into the kitchen all calm, and everyone knows that when she's the angriest, she's calm and collected like that, and she says, 'Mum', mum turned around quick as anything right then, 'I need to talk to you about going to Hogwarts this year, Harry explained to me several things that I didn't know about before,' mum just stared, but she wiped her wet hands on a nearby towel and followed Ginny outside.

"We all expected to hear them start yelling something awful next, but about two minutes later mum comes in, with tears in her eyes and gives Ginny a big kiss on the cheek before handing her a bowl of fruit to put on the table for lunch. Ginny was smiling as wide as anything." Here Ron paused. "Really, did you just tell her the truth?"

Harry nodded. "That and that she should grow up."

Ron raised one eyebrow. "Really, you're one to be talking, given your fine performance last year." Harry just shook his head guiltily. "But no one held it against you, don't worry. You had a lot on your mind, and we all know it." Harry didn't feel like saying that he had even more on his mind now, with the prophecy to contend with. "I only wish we could have known what that prophecy said, it might help us figure out how to kill Voldemort."

Ron was asking for it, and Harry _had,_ after all, resolved to tell him. "You don't have to kill Voldemort," Harry mumbled. "I do."

"What? Harry, don't get off on that again – yes, you're the vanguard and you do most of the heroic final battle-type-stuff, but we're behind you all the way, we'll help whether you want us to or not. Don't go on about being alone like you did last year."

Harry shook his head to Ron's half-concerned half-angry look. "No, it's not that. The prophecy wasn't destroyed, just a copy of it. Dumbledore heard the prophecy with his own ears, and he showed it to me through his Pensive. That's what the prophecy says – that either I have to kill Voldemort, or he has to kill me."

Ron was silent. "Really?" he muttered.

Harry nodded.

"Well," Ron added quietly, "Doesn't that just do you in. No wonder Voldemort's been after you." There was a pause. "That's all it said?"

Harry nodded again. "Some stuff about a power that the Dark Lord didn't know, and enough to identify that it was talking about me, but that's basically it. Ron, you can't tell anyone, though. I want to be the one to decide who knows and who doesn't."

Ron nodded solemnly. "Of course not, Harry." There was another pause. "If you think of it though, it doesn't really say too much… We all knew that either Voldemort had to die or you would, and I guess with all the heroics that have been thrown upon you, it was rather assumed that you would be the one to defeat him. You _are_ the boy who lived, after all."

Harry nodded. "Only… this makes me into a murderer – either I have to murder him or he will murder me. Except I don't want to do that – I don't know if I can."

Ron was silent for a moment, and when he did speak, his voice was low and earnest. "You've got to try, Harry. You're the only one who even has a shot." He tried to smile but it proved too hard. "And it never says you can't have any help. Maybe that's what the 'power the Dark Lord doesn't know' is – friendship?"

Harry shrugged. "That's what Dumbledore said. But it seems a bit of a silly power to defeat Voldemort with. What will I do, hug him to death?"

Ron laughed. "Really, I think that a hug would be more frightening from You-Know-Who than from you, Harry. Although maybe that's the point."

"What's the point," came a voice from the door as Hermione stepped inside.

Ron blushed bright red, fumbling for a lie, and Harry was left to fend for himself. "That the Chudley Cannons will never be the best in the league because they don't have the money to pay top players," Harry responded.

"Oh," Hermione answered, obviously disappointed. Whether it was because she knew they weren't talking about Quidditch or she thought they were was beyond Harry. "Well, in any case, I'd like to thank you for whatever you said to Ginny. She was finally able to talk to her mother, and they came to a reasonable decision without any more yelling." She smiled. "Just in case Ron hadn't already told you."

"I told him!" bit back Ron petulantly. "You don't trust me to do anything, Hermione," he whined. Hermione sighed and plopped down next to them.

"We're all wondering what you said, though," Hermione said with a smile.

"Yeah, mate, no one's ever been able to talk to her like that," Ron added with a bit of a lopsided grin. "You're a good influence on her." He grinned a bit too widely for Harry's liking.

"Have you seen Dean Thomas this summer," bit Harry, almost to make a point. Ron flushed bright red at the mention of their mutual friend.

"Haven't," responded Ron. "I think that was just a joke Ginny was playing on us. Although I wouldn't know – it's impossible to see anyone, they won't let us out of the house."

"And with good reason," Harry answered. "If Kreacher's gone and defected to the Malfoys, then all the Death Eaters know we're in this house by now. It wouldn't do to let you wander about outside; at least in the house, they can't see you or get in – so it's safe."

Hermione nodded. "That's what I've been trying to tell him," she muttered, but Ron looked shocked. Perhaps Hermione hadn't been as effective of conveying this fact to Ron as she would have hoped. "The Order desperately needs a new base. That's probably why Dumbledore is looking into the Chamber."

Ron nodded slowly. "All right, that makes sense enough," he commented. "But Ginny would have said something if she were keeping up with Thomas, right?"

Hermione laughed. "Maybe not, given your reaction to her last boyfriend." After a pause, she added, "But she hasn't used any of the owls often enough to look strange. I think she was indicating interest at most." Ron smirked, and gave Harry a look as if to say 'See, Harry? No Thomas at all.'

Harry rolled his eyes and tried to look pointedly towards Hermione. He wasn't sure it entirely worked, but Ron blushed bright red and said nothing more. Hermione merely shook her head. Harry smiled slightly.

Ron returned somewhat to his normal colour, though still a tad pink, and continued uncomfortably, "But like I was saying, Harry, the real problem is that the Montrose Magpies can buy anyone out – and who wouldn't want to play for a team that always wins? They get their fans that way too… spoil- sports, they'd switch alliances right now were Montrose to stop winning."

Harry tried to sound interested, as he answered, "But what's so bad about that? If you want to keep winning then you have to get the best players." Hermione yawned.

"It's just… unfair. They only get the money because they win, and they only win because they have the money. In my opinion, the cash for rewards should be split evenly between teams, so any team would have just the same chance of getting a good player. That way there would be some meaning behind rooting for the Magpies or the Wasps, or the Canons for that matter – although there's always meaning in rooting for the Canons."

Hermione yawned again, and interrupted, "Well, if you two don't mind… I have homework to do," and she hurried out of the room without looking back. Harry grinned.

"That," Ron said, "Was surprisingly easy."

"Especially as I have not the slightest idea who the Montrose Magpies are," Harry responded. "Successful team?"

"Only the most. But I don't think it's because they buy out the players. Interesting idea, Harry, and besides, Hermione will never know any better."

Harry grinned even wider.

It wasn't long thereafter that Hogwarts Owls came, and the four ruffled birds swooped in energetically, dropping four all-too similar packets off for the four students. Harry opened his with relish, eager to see his course list and book list officially, and Ron and Hermione opened theirs with the usual pomp accorded to such an event, but Ginny sat back, not wanting to open her letter. Harry passed her an inquisitive stare.

"It's _thin,_" she muttered, "It's light. There's no badge inside."

Harry sighed and put aside his own pile of papers. "Your mother has dealt with three of her children not being named prefect. She'll deal with this. Open it."

Ginny blinked and nodded, opening the letter quickly and pulling everything out. Her mother flew to her side. "Well, dear, where's your badge?"

"I don't have one, mum. I'm not prefect. Amelia's been named prefect, I'm sure." Ginny sounded pained, but was calm as she said it.

"Oh…" Mrs. Weasley said, coolly. "Well, that's all right – you've told me, she's the girl very much like Hermione, right?" Ginny nodded. Her mother smiled. "I'm sure she deserves the honour. Well, let's have a look at those book lists, shall we?" She picked up Ginny's papers and fell to reading them with much the same expression she had any other year. Ginny smiled slightly.

"Off to Diagon Alley, for all their things," came a voice from the corridor – Mr. Weasley. "When shall we go?"

"How long will it take to make the necessary arrangements?" asked Molly as her husband came in.

"A week, at most."

"Then in a week it is. And, Arthur – since it will then be just a few days until the start of term, why don't we stay at the Leaky Cauldron – surely it's safe enough, even in these times." Mr. Weasley seemed to consider it for a moment. "It would get them out of this house, Arthur, and that would do no end of good for them," Molly pursued.

"Well," Mr. Weasley said, finally, "I don't see how it could do any harm, so that should be perfectly all right."

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Wonderful, dear." She smiled at her daughter, almost proudly. "I was never a prefect either, dear," she said.

Ginny's face broke into a real smile for the first time that day and she turned back to her breakfast.

Within the week they left the house (the first time all summer for Ron, Hermione, and Ginny) and, surrounded by most of the Order members, they proceeded in quite a circuitous route towards the Muggle London Underground. "With the Malfoys knowing where we are," Mr. Weasley had whispered just before they left, "We can't just Floo our way to Diagon Alley. They'd never be watching the Underground, they hate all things Muggle."

Of course, Harry secretly thought that their choice of transportation had something to do with Mr. Weasley's fascination with non-magic folk, but he said nothing. All the adults, except Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley themselves, left them at the entrance to the underground, and Harry was, in a way, glad that they didn't see Mr. Weasley riding the escalator down to the platform. His joy upon finally being able to ride one was astonishing. "Do these have _plugs,_" he asked Hermione excitedly, and Hermione shook her head and answered in the negative, a little sad she couldn't have answered that yes, these grand machines did in fact run off of plugs.

"They do operate on electricity, though," she offered in consolation.

Mr. Weasley was thrilled. "Then how does the eklectricity get there, if there isn't a plug? Does it use a battrie?"

"No… I think that it's hardwired into the system; it's a wire just like in a plug but there's nowhere you could 'unplug' it as such."

Mr. Weasley just grinned.

Several commuters stared at him, as he rode the train with a foolish grin on his face, but most just shrugged it off and turned to their own newspapers. Harry was glad he was too shocked to talk, or he would have attracted much too much attention. At one point he asked to borrow someone's mobile phone – and when he just wanted to look at it, stunned, he garnered many an odd stare. "Where's the wire? Is it really a fellytone?"

"_Telephone,_" Hermione hissed, "And it's one of those mobile ones – it uses a battery," she said to Mr. Weasley's obvious delight, "And transmits to the centre using radio waves. I might be wrong, though," she added as an afterthought.

Mr Weasley continued to stare as they rode the escalator to street level, but as soon as they were nearing Wizarding London he snapped back to a more responsible state. "Okay, keep together," he cautioned. "They won't attack us in broad daylight like this, not with so many people around, but it's good to be safe nonetheless…" he led them into the Leaky Cauldron and approached Tom the barkeep, asking whether there were three rooms to spare. To everyone's relief, there were. There would be no need to travel back to number 12 Grimmauld Place. Mr. Weasley sent a quick note back to the Order – saying they had arrived safely, and alerting them that he would be back to retrieve the children's school things within the week.

With that, and a nod to Tom, the six walked to the back of the pub, and tapped on the brick that opened the doorway to Diagon Alley. Harry saw his chance for freedom and took it, as did Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. All four were out of their parent's sight before Mrs. Weasley could let out a gentle sigh. After all, what could go wrong in Diagon Alley?

And, truth be told, nothing did go wrong in Diagon Alley. Ron managed to leave Harry and Ginny alone at Florean Fortesque's Ice Cream shop, about halfway through the day, but after a rather quiet five minutes of eating ice cream Harry and Ginny found him staring at the new brooms through a glass window, Hermione looking painfully bored. They returned to the Leaky Cauldron for dinner, their school things neatly stacked in boxes and bags, and went upstairs to sleep.

Mr. Weasley went the next day to Grimmauld place to get their trunks, and carried them back in a ministry car. And so, quietly, passed the remainder of their ever shrinking summer vacation and the last few weeks of the time before Harry could return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


	7. The Quibbler's New Slytherin

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon, , when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** Ah, lots of talk of Tom, even if not much action. Tom appears next chapter, so you can wait with bated breath until then! Thanks so much to my beta-reader Katy for her incredible help, she goes so quickly and is quite thorough so I can't complain in the slightest. Thanks as well to all my reviewers, ennui, Pixie, and Sarah (please continue reading!).

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 7: The Quibbler's New Slytherin?**

They travelled to King's Cross station in a car provided by the Ministry, Mr. Weasley smiling widely when Percy met them again at the Leaky Cauldron. Mrs. Weasley positively beamed to see her elder son accompanying them to the train station. She enveloped the young man in a gigantic, forceful hug, and Percy looked distinctly uncomfortable but thanked her with a tear in the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry mum, I really am," he said so softly it was barely audible, and Mrs. Weasley wept to hear it.

Mr. Weasley engaged him in discussion about the inner workings of the Ministry now that Fudge had admitted Dumbledore's correct stance, and Percy admitted it had vastly changed. While his efficiency was still prized, his ambition was looked down upon now that the Ministry was forced into taking actions to rid the world of Voldemort. This was no time for playing the game to get the promotion, and no promotions were likely to fall to either Mr. Weasley or his son. Before he could get any deeper into discussion, however, Percy saw his younger siblings and strode over.

"Congratulations on being named prefect Ron, Hermione," he said with a pompous edge to his voice. "I don't believe I've said it in person yet." He smiled proudly and shook hands with his brother with such official pomp and circumstance that Ginny had to work to suppress a giggle and looked toward Harry, who was having the same trouble. "Harry," Percy turned, and reached forward to shake his hand. "I'd just like to say I'm sorry on the behalf of the entire Ministry – lives could have been lost because of our foolishness, we remain very glad that casualties were at a minimum."

Lives _were_ lost, Harry wanted to say, but it would be useless telling Percy about Sirius Black. For Percy, while he finally admitted that Voldemort was back, would have a hard time grasping in the same moment t he fact that Sirius Black, Harry's Godfather, was not guilty, and one of the few innocent victims in the Death Eater raid. Harry gulped down his anger and grief and smiled as he shook Percy's hand, saying only, "Thank you."

Percy next turned to Ginny and made to swallow her in a fierce hug. "Have they been looking after you?" he asked, seeming genuinely worried. "I'm so guilty I didn't keep in touch as much as I should have, Ginny. But I'm back now, I've seen how wrong I was, and if you ever need anything, anything at all…"

Ginny cut him off with a frustrated expression. "I understand. I'm a fifth year now, in case you didn't get the message. I can handle myself."

Percy stood back in mute shock but said nothing, turning instead to his father and expressing once more his gladness to be home. The seven approached the embassy-donated Mercedes together. The magically enlarged car had no trouble receiving all seven people and four trunks, and soon they were at the station and ready for the voyage to Hogwarts.

Ginny didn't speak to anyone on the trip to the station or while they were walking in the station, and Percy and Mrs. Weasley began to regard her with not a little distrust. However, they didn't act, and soon enough she was racing ahead of them toward the boundary between platforms nine and ten, and then she had crossed the barrier and was gone. Ron nudged Harry on the shoulder to follow, and Harry hurried through, but to no avail, for Ginny had disappeared into the crowd. Harry shouted her name, but no one answered. A voice came up to his left and he turned to see Draco Malfoy.

"Looking for your girlfriend, Potter?" he spat.

Harry just rolled his eyes. Malfoy seemed so infantile after this past year. "No. I'm looking for my best friend's sister, who's gone missing. Sod off, Malfoy." Ron appeared behind him, out of breath.

"Found her?" he asked.

"No," Harry answered with a shake of the head, but Malfoy was not to be deterred.

"Aw, the littlest Weasel has gone missing, has she?" he whined. "Have you checked all the rat holes? They're probably more spacious than the hole in the ground you call home." Harry had to hold Ron back while Malfoy laughed openly.

"Ron- It's not worth it," Harry gasped, it was getting harder and harder to hold Ron back as he got to be taller and taller. Harry was built for Quidditch, but Ron was tall and lanky. Fortunately, Hermione appeared before Ron could do any damage. She grabbed Ron's arm and he slowly relaxed. Harry shot Hermione a grateful look, and Malfoy snorted and left, his two cronies following him closely.

"Where is she?" Hermione asked. The two boys shrugged in response. "You can't tell me that you've lost her because of Malfoy," she sighed.

Ron looked at Hermione quizzically, as if this were a perfectly acceptable answer and precisely the one he intended to use. "Why not?" he asked. "He was insulting my family again."

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Yes. Just like he's been doing for the past six years. Simply because he can't grow up doesn't mean you shouldn't. We should start looking for Ginny before your mum gets through, though," she said. Harry felt distinctly like an unneeded entity and let them off alone to go look for Ginny, or whatever it was that they were going to go and do. Mrs. Weasley came through in a fluster, and barrelled her way through the crowd hardly even seeing Harry, searching for her daughter. Mr. Weasley and Percy were a long time coming, deep in discussion about some department or another at the Ministry. Harry sighed and began to search the crowd.

It wasn't long until he had to board the train and he still hadn't found Ginny, so he searched instead for a compartment that was free. Ron and Hermione had to do their prefect duties in the devoted car at the head of the train, and so Harry settled on the car populated with Neville and Luna. Entering, he smiled weakly. Neville greeted him in return, but Luna was far too deeply into her magazine to even notice Harry's presence. "Have you seen Ginny?" he asked, and Neville shook his head in response. Luna let out a short 'No,' and returned to reading without taking her eyes off of her upside down Quibbler.

Harry resorted to staring around and wondering where she could be. The train was almost leaving when Ginny poked her head in. Seeing only Harry she smiled guiltily and began, "Don't you start chastising me for running off alone, I've already heard all of it from mum. I was only looking for…"

Quickly, and with a pointed look at Neville and Luna, Harry finished, "Thomas," at the same time as she said "Tom."

"He has a first name, Ginny. Most of the Gryffindors call him Dean." He hoped Ginny wouldn't question him on this one before turning around to find her friends of late.

Fortunately, the pointed glance was enough. Ginny turned to see Luna and Neville and blushed brightly. "Right. I know." She said, and then sat down with a bright, "Hello Neville. How was your summer?"

Neville muttered something unintelligible, and Ginny took that as a good sign. "Glad to hear it," she responded. "Mine was wretched – they wouldn't let us out of the house for fear that we'd get eaten alive by Death Eaters or something. It was frightfully boring." She smiled toward Luna and tried to make conversation. "How was your summer, Luna?"

Luna had looked up from her magazine, and shot Harry and Ginny a pointed glance. "Have you heard of the new student?" she asked. "Were you looking for him?"

Ginny furrowed her brow, and answered, "I don't know what you're talking about." Harry stared at Luna, puzzled as well. How would she know about Tom? Especially at this early a date, when only Order members, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny knew about it? Who would have told her?

"What new student?" asked Harry, visibly confused.

"Oh," replied Luna, vaguely disappointed. It was probably hard for her to ever muster more than a vague disappointment or emotion. Her washed out, bulging eyes didn't permit for much else. "I thought you would know, with your links to the Ministry and everything. There have been rumours all summer about a new Slytherin starting school a year above us." She smiled. "I guess the Quibbler is still good for something."

Ginny blinked. "Well, whoever it is I'm sure they're wretched if they've been sorted into Slytherin," she offered, with what she hoped was a veiled glance toward Harry, who was staying remarkably quiet. "And the Quibbler has always been good for plenty," she added to appease Luna and her family ties.

"The new Slytherin – he should be on the train," Luna said. "How else would he get to the school?" She looked dreamily towards the door, as though she fancied to go and look for him herself. Harry had to stop her quickly.

"It's a Slytherin, Luna," he answered. "He's probably not worth knowing. Someone like Malfoy – all money, no substance."

Ginny nodded slowly, unsure of what to do. "Yeah," she agreed, sounding less conclusive for all her deliberation. If Tom were on the train… she would want to find him immediately, but she would want Harry along just in case. "Actually, I was thinking I would try to find Dean again. Harry, would you come with?" she asked, nearly dragging Harry out of the cabin.

Once outside, Ginny breathed again and colour returned to Harry's face. "How does she know about Tom?" Ginny whispered as they strode down the corridor.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, but it scares me. What if more people have been reading the Quibbler? What did it say about him?"

Ginny nodded. "We should find him," she stated.

Harry shook his head. "You're crazy if you think we're going to go looking for Riddle on this train. That's asking for trouble. We should stay away from him as much as possible. Knowing Slytherins, he won't make himself scarce." Harry was confident in his own logic and looked at Ginny pointedly, as if daring her to contradict him.

"I guess you're right," she conceded. "I just… I'm having a hard time believing this is true, so I figured I'd look for him to find out for myself. But probably it's not worth it."

"Probably," Harry began, "he's not even on the train. He was found in the Chamber of Secrets – and I dreamt about him in the Slytherin dungeon. He's at Hogwarts already, Ginny. He has no need to take the train there."

Ginny sighed. "All right. You win." She paused and turned back to the cabin, before realising that they hadn't spent nearly enough time outside to qualify as 'looking for Dean'. "We should probably find Dean, for honesty's sake if nothing else." Harry nodded, not really averse to seeing his friend after the summer, and they began checking compartment windows, looking for the sixth year Gryffindor.

They found him, in a cabin with Seamus Finnegan, Parvati Patil, and Lavender Brown. One look in the compartment showed both Harry and Ginny that they were not wanted, and Ginny backed up with surprising energy. "Well, we found them," she offered.

Harry nodded. "Ron will be pleased," he commented as they turned back down toward the compartment with Neville and Luna.

Ginny glared at him. "Overprotective git," she muttered. A few seconds later, she perked up again. "We've looked through most of the train," she said.

"And?"

"Well, we haven't seen Tom."

"No, we haven't."

"So… where is he?"

Harry shook his head. "Like I said, he's at Hogwarts. And I'm glad. The less we see of Tom Riddle this year, the better."

Ginny sighed and shook her head. "Look, like Dumbledore said – he's not supposed to be the same person. Promise me it won't be the same as Malfoy, okay?"

Harry looked down at her, confused. "Since when do you care about the Slytherin bastard? Ginny… He's the Dark Lord. It's not as though I asked for him to hate me – I don't really have much of a choice in the matter."

Ginny just shook her head. "Give him a chance, Harry."

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "Why should I? So he can stab me in the back?"

"Maybe he's not as bad as all that!" Ginny said, a little louder than she expected.

"Yeah," Harry commented. "Maybe he's worse."

Ginny dropped the subject. "All that," she muttered, "And I can't even scare Ron with stories of Dean. How long until he finds out about Dean and Lavender, do you think?"

"I don't give him too long." They paused, having reached their compartment. "You'll just have to find another boyfriend, I guess," Harry offered.

Ginny blushed, and then Harry realised what he had said and flushed as well as he opened the door. Neville and Luna turned to them. "So?" asked Luna. "Did you see the new Slytherin?"

Ginny shook her head. "We've been up and down the train, and no new Slytherin," she said. "Too bad."

Luna sighed. "That would have been interesting – a new Slytherin," she whispered, and turned back to her Quibbler.

A shout came up the train, someone crying "Oi! Thomas! I didn't need to see that!" Harry and Ginny laughed. It sounded like Ron had found out.

It wasn't long until Ron and Hermione returned to the cabin and flushed from running up and down the train, fell into seats by the door. "Prefect meeting just finish?" asked Neville.

"No," answered Ron, "We were looking for Tom…" he stopped himself abruptly, not knowing what to say. "As. Dean Thomas?" he squeaked finally.

Neville squinted. "He sure is popular. Ginny was just in with him too."

Ron flushed bright red. "Ginny… you… you did what?" He stood up, ready to pummel Dean Thomas for so much as -

"Ron," Ginny warned, "I was doing _exactly_ the same thing you were. Trust me." She sighed. "Besides, since when do you take an interest in my social life except to be incredibly overprotective? Get a life of your own. Not everyone is a maniacal Slytherin. Is there even a boy at Hogwarts you'd approve of?"

Ron instantly answered, "Of course," a bit to fast, as he was staring at Harry and tried to cover it up, "There are plenty of guys I'd approve of."

"Then why not Dean Thomas?"

Ron seemed caught between a rock and a hard place, and glanced around him for support, but found none. He tried explaining himself, but it came out as meaningless stuttering.

Ron calmed down and Luna looked up from her Quibbler. "Ginny," she murmured, "Ronald is just looking out for your best interests, aren't you, Ronald?" she whispered in her dreamy voice. Ron nodded but then edged slightly away. Turning to Ron, she continued. "Have you seen the new Slytherin?" she asked.

Ron blinked for a bit and looked to Harry, completely missing the look of panic his friend was trying to send. "So you do know about Tom, then. Harry, why didn't you say you'd told them?"

Silence reigned in the car. "His name is Tom?" asked Luna. "Tom what?"

Ginny was plastered the seat, a stricken look on her face, and Hermione and Ron froze as well, all looking toward Luna and Neville. Neville caught on. "What's going on, Harry?" he asked. "You can trust us – Dumbledore's Army – remember? We all went to the Department of Mysteries together last year. What's going on?"

Harry sighed. Neville was right, he had counted on these five people last year and he probably would count on them even more in the future, he should tell Neville and Luna what was going on – but no one else, he resolved. "Luna's right – there's a new Slytherin in our year. His name is Tom Riddle." Neville nodded and Luna turned her rapt, bulging eyes toward Harry. "Or, he might be going by something different, but his real name is Tom Riddle.

"He was found in the Chamber of Secrets this summer, and he's still at the school, which is why he's not on the train," Harry supposed. "He looks like me except he has blue eyes. And…" Harry paused, remembering what Dumbledore had said and Ginny had warned him of. "Well… he's…" He's You- Know-Who in disguise, Harry wanted to say, but although Luna would accept it hands down, he wasn't sure he wanted to say it as bluntly as all that. He was at a loss for what to do.

Ginny interrupted, offering a diversion. "From what I've heard, he's killingly handsome," she said, a catlike gleam in her eye. Luna seemed interested, but Ron was taken aback.

"Ginny!" he shouted, so loud that the entire train must have heard, and just stared at her in mute amazement. "You… he's a Slytherin, and not only that… Ginny, remember your first year!"

Luna furrowed her brow in concentration, trying to remember her first year, and Neville thought back as well. "What are you talking about, Ron?" he asked.

Luna looked shocked. "Does this Tom fellow have to do with the people who were petrified that year?" she asked.

Seeing how close she had come to the truth, Harry realised it had gone too far. Luna wouldn't keep this under wraps; there was no way she could. "Of course not," Harry said. "He wasn't even here. He's the son of a well-known Death Eater, is all." Harry tried to make that sound conclusive, and he wasn't sure if he succeeded. "In her first year, Ginny…" Here Ginny cut in.

"I realised just how wretched Death Eaters could be. All that terrified me, and I was sure that Malfoy was behind it, because after all he does seem awfully evil. But when I found out that he didn't know how – I guess it made it worse, because it made it seem that he would have, had he been able to unleash a monster like that onto the students. It made me realize that there are even worse things than Malfoy."

"Did you ever find out what it was?" asked Luna. "I heard it was a Cockatrice."

Harry shook his head. "Basilisk. It was Slytherin's monster; remember? What else would Slytherin use as a monster of preference other than a giant snake? But it's dead, don't worry."

"Ginny, weren't you…" began Neville, but stopped suddenly.

"Yes. I was the last one to be kidnapped, and he said he would kill me. But I'm fine now."

"Who?" Luna asked, confused. "Who said they would kill you? You must know who was leaving all the messages."

"Well," Harry began, wondering what he would say for this.

Just then, the compartment door opened and Draco Malfoy stood, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. It was the first time in his entire life that Harry had been glad to see Malfoy.


	8. The Disruption in the Great Hall

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon, when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** Finally you get to meet Tom, or rather, re-meet him. (I'm sure most of you will be thrilled, and were of the opinion that there was a severe lack of Tom in the last few chapters. Don't worry – no more Tomless chapters.) Thanks go to all my reviewers! Err.... reviewer. Thanks, Pixie, for your review. I'm glad that someone who pays attention to Luna's character (as an H/L shipper) you like the way I've portrayed her. Although I don't know about much Harry/Luna - I'm not much of a shipper myself. We'll see.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 8: The Disruption in the Great Hall**

Several moments had passed, but Malfoy was just standing there, with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Harry sighed, grateful for the interruption but not sure he really wanted to take on Malfoy at this point. "What is it, Malfoy?"

Ginny laughed. "Planning on saying anything deep or meaningful? Or maybe you were just thinking you could intimidate us by standing there."

Malfoy smirked and cut back, "The presence of someone so much higher than yourself should intimidate you, Weaslette. But I wouldn't expect anyone as dense as you to understand respect."

Ginny snorted. "I understand a Bat Bogey Hex a lot better than respect for the likes of you," she said, standing and pulling out her wand menacingly. Malfoy stepped back, visibly pale. Apparently he had not forgotten Ginny's hex from the end of the previous term.

Hermione made a vague noise in protest of fighting on the train. Harry stood and grabbed Ginny's arm. "He's not worth it, Ginny," he remonstrated.

Malfoy regained his bearings and peered into the room. "Saving your girlfriend's neck, eh, Potter? Afraid she'll bust up her pretty little face? Although, I can't account for what you Gryffindors call taste, she's disgusting if you ask me," he snapped, "Just like the rest of those Weasley pigs – not enough money to even keep themselves clean, the lot."

Ron jumped up at this and made to pummel Draco, and Harry grabbed his wand hand as well, sending a panicked look to Hermione for help. But before she could do anything, Malfoy turned his attention to her and called out, "You have to go a long way to keep yourself clean, especially when you hang out with Mudbloods."

Harry lost control as Ron ripped through Harry's grip and sent a shocked Malfoy flying with a punch directly in his left eye. Malfoy's head knocked against the wall of the compartment across the way and he stood, dazed, for a moment. "Don't you ever call Hermione that again, Malfoy. The only thing that needs cleaning here is your mouth," Ron muttered and he shut the doors to the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle absentmindedly prodding at their wealthier friend.

"You'd think," Ginny commented absently, as they all calmed down from the encounter, "That Crabbe and Goyle would be useful in a fight, with all that brawn."

At that, everyone laughed.

It wasn't long until the snack trolley came by, and soon the six were well stocked with treats to tide them over until they reached Hogwarts, chattering happily through mouthfuls of chocolate frog and every-flavour beans.

"What was it we were talking about before Malfoy and the others came in?" Luna asked, absentmindedly.

"The new Slytherin," answered Harry quickly, omitting any reference to the Chamber of Secrets or Ginny's first year but keeping as close to the truth as he could.

"And?"

"As far as I know," Ginny said slowly, "And I've heard a lot about him through dad and the Order and all, he's as bad as they come – but charming, too. So don't trust him, even if he seems trustworthy."

Luna nodded, "A Death Eater?"

"Of course," answered Ginny, "Deeper than the Malfoys, I daresay."

They were silent for a while, trying to imagine a Death Eater that was more deeply entrenched in Voldemort's plans than Lucius Malfoy and his family. "Do they even exist?" Neville asked at length, "Death Eaters higher ranked than Malfoy, that is."

Harry laughed. "Well, I would say You-Know-Who is one of them," he said grimly, trying to diffuse the situation and not realising the implication of his statement.

"Other than You-Know-Who, of course," Luna conceded.

Ginny paled, and Harry wasn't entirely sure what to say. Hermione spoke up, "Well I guess there is; after all, he's coming to Hogwarts."

She said it with such a decisive tone that even Luna stopped wondering. There was an awkward silence for what seemed like an eternity, and they all took turns looking out the window at the scenery passing by and clearing their throats uncomfortably. Finally, Hermione spoke up. "I think it's about time to change into robes. We'll be arriving shortly," and she promptly left the compartment.

"I agree," choked Ron and he hurried after Hermione. "Wait up!" he shouted down the corridor.

In the silence that followed, Harry caught a glance at Ginny and had trouble not laughing. "Maybe he thought she needed help…" she muttered, and he cracked up. Luna and Neville gazed confusedly at them, oblivious to anything that might be going on.

Harry only shook his head and sighed.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before they reached Hogsmeade and climbed into the Thestral-led chariots that would carry them the final few kilometres to Hogwarts. Upon seeing them, Ginny had gasped. "So… so that's what they look like. Those are Thestrals?" she whispered, not necessarily to Harry, but he happened to be standing nearest, and nodded.

"Yeah. Those are Thestrals," he said, quietly, just as they climbed into the carriage. He hadn't thought before this about the implications of the experience in the Department of Mysteries on other people, having principally pushed it out of his mind over the summer. But surely Ginny saw some Death Eater – or maybe even Sirius – fall in battle that day, and it suddenly dawned on him that she, or Hermione or Ron or Luna or Neville, was probably just as troubled and haunted by the events of that day as he was. He smiled darkly as the carriage lurched to a start and they began their ascent towards the castle. Mostly it passed in silence, because Harry couldn't think of any way to express his new-found sympathy, and Ginny didn't know anything existed to be expressed.

As they climbed the stairs to the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall pulled Ginny aside and whispered something to her, nodding to Harry and escorting the youngest Weasley down the hall to her office. To Harry it was clear what was going on – their Head of House was alerting Ginny to the presence of Tom, and making sure that she wouldn't be too shocked when the time came and she saw him at the feast. It would have been perfect timing, had Harry not already told her. But Professor McGonagall hardly knew that.

And so Harry made his way into the Great Hall and sat down beside his best friends of five years now, smiling to Hermione and Ron. "Where's Ginny?" asked Ron, only slightly concerned.

"McGonagall pulled her aside. Probably to talk about Tom."

Hermione nodded and Ron moved on to the subject of the missing food. "I wish they'd get on with this, after all, I'm starving." Harry and Hermione just shook their heads in acceptance.

There was a loud series of shouts from the Slytherin table, and when Harry looked over, the entire side of the hall was a frenzy of green and silver and black movement, faces looking, shocked, towards Professor Snape at the high table, who wouldn't even deign to look down on his students. Dumbledore leaned over to the greasy Potions Professor and muttered a few words, after which Snape turned his attention to the Slytherin students and silenced them all with a withering glance.

No words had been said, but it didn't take a genius to know what the fuss had been about. The Slytherins had found their new classmate. Harry laughed. Perhaps Riddle would wreak havoc on Malfoy's time at school as well as his own.

As soon as the Slytherins quieted down, Dumbledore nodded to the doors and they opened, allowing Flitwick to escort the first years through the hall to the front and bring forward the stool with the sorting hat on it. McGonagall was still nowhere to be seen. As the Ravenclaw head of house stepped back to pick up a scroll with the first years' names on it, the hat cleared its throat, opened the ripped seam that served for a mouth, and began to sing, just like in all the previous years.

_When I was young and not so frayed,  
And when I'd just been bought   
Our warty school was just a dream  
In four bright wizard's thoughts.   
These four who built our school, you know,   
Have garnered lasting fame  
And each of them is so well known  
You'll recognise their names.   
Brave Gryffindor, the bold and proud  
Fair Ravenclaw, the wise   
Sweet Hufflepuff, the loyal mage  
And Slytherin, the sly  
They shared one goal; to build a school  
It was their wished-for end  
And though they differed otherwise  
For Hogwarts, they were friends.   
But once the school was built and done,   
Their labour near complete  
They argued then on who to teach,   
And started to compete  
For Gryffindor would rant and rave  
That bravest should be students  
While Ravenclaw wanted only those  
Who understood the rudiments  
And Hufflepuff proclaimed that all  
Should be granted admission  
While Slytherin decried, "Just those  
Who show a strong ambition!"   
But even for this, they had a plan  
And when they passed away  
They left me here, to speak their choice,   
And so I'll do today  
So don't be scared, for I have seen  
A few more years than you  
Just let me peep inside your head  
And tell you what to do! _

"Abel, Douglas," squeaked the small professor, and the sorting was underway. Ron muttered to Harry about the aching in his stomach through "Wiseman, Jonas," and then just grumbled to himself for a while. Throughout this, neither Ginny nor Professor McGonagall entered the hall, and Flitwick had reached "Zogel, Harriet," and the end of the list, without any sign of them. Dumbledore stood to speak.

"There are many things to say to you," he said grimly, "But now is not the time. Please, enjoy the feast." With that greeting he sat down and the golden plates on the many tables filled with food. Not much was left by the time Ginny arrived, the doors of the Great Hall once again opening to let only the small Gryffindor in. She walked confidently to her table, but saw that all the seats around her brother and Harry had been filled by first years, and awkwardly paused, looking for a space. All the eyes in the hall were on her.

Somewhere down the Gryffindor table, there was a rustling, as several fifth years pushed and shoved the first years to make room for their friend and classmate, and Ginny haltingly walked towards them, but must have taken too long in doing so, because in a far corner of the room, someone stood up at the Slytherin table.

Suddenly, no one paid any attention to little Ginny Weasley, because there was a Slytherin no one had ever seen before – or rather, no one except Harry Potter had seen before – standing up and taking a step across the room towards the Gryffindor table.

As soon as the rest of the school stopped watching her, the red head disappeared into the surroundings of her friends, and the new Slytherin, having lost sight of his prey, halted suddenly. Silence reigned in the Great Hall. Everyone watched this newcomer as he cleared his throat and proudly strode to the centre of the room, where just a few minutes before the Sorting Hat had sat on its stool. "My name," he began, "Is Ophicus Serpens Marvolo. I am a Slytherin, entering into this school as a Sixth year. Prior to this, I have been homeschooled. I…" he trailed off for a second, and in his pause, Dumbledore picked up where he left off.

"Young Ophicus here has been accepted with my warmest recommendation as an exemplary student. Mr. Marvolo, you may return to your seat." As Tom – or rather, Ophicus – walked back to his seat at the Slytherin table, Dumbledore continued. "As we have gotten off to introductions, there are several more people I'd like to introduce to you. Not all of you recognise Firenze from his brief time as a professor here last year, but he shall continue to teach Divination, along with Professor Trelawney. Those taking the course will receive details about this arrangement with their schedules." There was a warm round of applause for the Centaur. "Also, I'd like to welcome Professor Aleta Quinn to our school, she will be filling the Defence Against the Dark Arts post." There was another warm, but altogether bland, round of applause for the professor – she appeared to be altogether normal, wearing plain black robes and thick-rimmed glasses. She stood for the applause, but sat down quickly and let the students get on with their conversations, and their meal.

Ron grinned through his food and smiled before saying, "She looks decent – let's hope it's not another Lockhart, or Moody, or something."

Hermione laughed. "We'll see. She certainly doesn't look dangerous. Just like any other professor, I'd say."

Harry nodded. "Although with all of this, I'm beginning to think the post actually is cursed. We haven't had a single teacher for more than a year, and we're already in our sixth years."

Ron nodded, and Hermione sighed. "That's no reason to say the post is cursed – mostly they were incompetent, or secretly Death Eaters."

"And that's not anyone's fault," Harry chimed in sarcastically.

"All right, Harry," Hermione conceded, and the three went back to eating quietly.

At the other end of the Gryffindor Table, Ginny laughed shrilly. "He was not!" she whispered to Jeannette, her best friend in her year. She didn't want the rest of the table to hear Jeannette's allegations that the rather attractive new Slytherin had been heading towards Ginny before she sat down.

"He was too, and he had a reason – he had something to say to you, Ginevra Molly Weasley," Jeannette whispered back fiercely.

Ginny glared at her friend. "You know I hate it when you call me by my full name," she said. "And Ophicus Marvolo, or whatever his name is, certainly wouldn't want to have anything to do with a Muggle-loving Gryffindor like me."

"It's not a question of whether he wanted to have anything to do with you – he clearly did, I saw his face and he was headed right here," Jeannette whispered adamantly. "The question is, why has Ginny Weasley been spending time with anonymous Slytherins?"

"I haven't been. You can get my brother to vouch for that. Trust me, there is only animosity between the new Slytherin and myself."

Behind her, Amelia O'Connor, the brightest girl in their year and the newest Gryffindor prefect, prodded her shoulder. "Ginny, dear, there have to be relations before there can be animosity. Are you saying that you've met this Marvolo fellow?"

Ginny gulped. "No. I'm just saying that I hate him much in the same way I hate every Slytherin – they're a good for nothing lot, and I'm standing by that assertion."

Amelia nodded. "Well, I can't say I'm complaining. Less competition – he certainly is handsome," she murmured into Ginny's ear.

Ginny flushed bright red and whirled around to stare at her friend. "What?" she yelped, "He looks just like Harry – only with blue eyes and no scar!"

Amelia laughed. "Just because your Harry's off limits to us doesn't mean we don't admit the truth – and Marvolo is much more attractive than Harry, he carries himself with more confidence. Besides, he's a few inches taller and he doesn't have that horrible unruly hair. Harry can't compare. You'll see."

Ginny just shook her head angrily and poked at her food. Suddenly she didn't want to eat. This was certainly not the reaction she wanted her friends to be having to Tom Riddle. "Well, let me just say what my parents told me – we're close to Dumbledore so we'd heard about him. Mr. Marvolo is as deep in the Death Eater ranks as they come, worse even than Malfoy himself." She hoped that no one would question that piece of knowledge – because once again, she couldn't name another example of a higher-ranking Death Eater than Malfoy, unless she pointed out the Dark Lord. But her friends took this with mutual fascination, although they certainly didn't stop staring.

"Why'd he stand up to talk to you, then, Ginny?" Jeannette mumbled, but Ginny didn't bother gracing that with a response.


	9. Cold Memories and Warm Pillows

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** I've been wanting to write the end of this chapter since I started writing this story, so I'm glad I finally got it in and I truly hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it and planning it out. Thanks to all my reviewers, Pixie (I hope you're happy with how Gwen turned out – personally, I think she's a nice addition), Amazing (you get your wish of Tom talking to Ginny, but probably not exactly how you imagined it. I hope the update was fast enough for you), and Zeldagrl, and thanks to my lovely brit-picker/beta reader Katy, who not only looks after my grammar but my characters as well.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 9: Cold Memories and Warm Pillows**

The tables had been clear of food for several minutes when Dumbledore again stood. "I have a few start of term notices for you all," he said, clearing his throat as he spoke. "Firstly, I would like to remind you that the Forbidden Forest is named so for a reason, and any student found venturing within it will be severely reprimanded. Also, the first floor girls' bathroom is now off limits, and will be for the foreseeable future. Mr. Filch has requested that I notify you all of a revised list of forbidden objects available in his office, but let it suffice to say that this is not a place for needless mischief and mayhem." Harry found it very hard not to add a whispered _any more _at the end of Dumbledore's speech. Everyone remembered Fred and George's famous last few weeks, in which the entire school seemed to be revolting against Professor Umbridge.

Dumbledore continued. "I would also like to issue a word of caution and reassurance. The world in which we live is becoming darker every day, and it is sometimes hard to believe that everything will turn out for the best. I am sure you have heard of the rapidly increasing rate of attacks through the Daily Prophet. I urge you to use common sense and take care not to wander aimlessly in the world, now that we know for certain – Lord Voldemort has returned. These certainly are dark days. However, while you are at Hogwarts, you need not worry yourself about the fears and trepidations of the outside world. Our four founders and our gifted staff have provided you with a unique opportunity – to learn magic in a place totally devoid of that risk, totally safe from the outside world. In these dark days, look to your studies to prepare yourself for when you must unfortunately leave this safe haven and venture into the world at large to fend for yourself. Do not besmirch this opportunity." Dumbledore coughed slightly, and the twinkle returned to his eye as he spoke his last words. "Especially, however, try not to shorten the ephemeral time you spend as a child. Remember to have fun." With that, he nodded at the prefects, who stood and led their respective houses to the dormitories. Hermione and Ron pushed to the front of the mass, leaving Harry alone in the throng leaving the great hall.

He supposed, ruefully, that he should have been expecting their disappearance, and as he walked up to the familiar Portrait of the Fat Lady and his familiar dormitory in Hogwarts School, he ruminated on Dumbledore's speech. It was hard to think that the headmaster's speech wasn't related to him, harder still to think that Dumbledore wasn't speaking directly to him for the last bit of the talk. Dumbledore might as well have shouted out to Harry that what was coming would come and he had best to not worry about the situation one way or another. Harry didn't really want to blindly accept this advice from his headmaster, however.

It was rich for Dumbledore to be telling him to relax about consequences, Dumbledore wasn't the one Voldemort was after – or he was one of the people Voldemort was after, but he wouldn't have to kill the Dark Lord when all was said and done. That was Harry's responsibility and at that moment, alone in the crowd, Harry felt the difference and the alienation more acutely than he had ever felt it before. He didn't notice Tom shoving past him brusquely to get to someone behind him, he hardly was aware of anything as he walked up to the common room.

It all came down to the fact that he had resolved to trust Dumbledore although Dumbledore still thought him a child. Dumbledore, who knew that Harry was destined to be a murderer, flatly denied the fact that Harry was growing up much faster than normal out of necessity, that Harry was expected to do things that most adult wizards would be incapable of doing, and all before he had finished his Hogwarts education. It was frightening to think that the man Harry had such trust in, the revered old Headmaster, was trying to pretend that nothing was wrong, and yet that was exactly what he advised to the students attending Hogwarts: nothing will happen here, pretend it's not happening. It doesn't concern you.

And yet, although Harry knew full well that Dumbledore had been speaking to him more than anyone else when he warned against the perils of growing up too fast, Harry also could not deny the fact that Dumbledore was living a dangerous life in denying that anything could happen in Hogwarts. Attacks had happened in Hogwarts before, and attacks would happen again if Voldemort had his way. Why was Dumbledore ignoring it?

Although that was, perhaps, the point, Harry decided. We all have trials ahead of us, some sooner than others, but we must not forsake our happiness because the future looks bleak. Dumbledore accepted the fact that horrors were all around them, but was sending out a message that the most important thing was not to deal with those horrors, which would deal with themselves or not as they chose, but to live out one's life as happily as one could, while one could. Harry might not live much longer, but that didn't mean all he could think about was death or murder.

It was with these thoughts that Harry approached the gateway to his cherished Common Room, and waited there for the rest of the prefects to assemble and declare the password.

He puzzled vaguely that he should have to wait so long, but perhaps this year's group of first years was particularly airheaded, and had gotten lost along the way. He sighed and leaned back against a railing on the stairwell, only to see the last few Gryffindors coming up the stairs, Ginny running several levels below them. All the Gryffindors had assembled when Ginny still had two levels to go, but Ron wasn't watching and cleared his throat anyway. "The password is _Astra Vesperi_," he enunciated carefully, glancing toward Hermione for a look of approval, which she happily gave at his correct pronunciation. The Fat Lady smiled benevolently and swung upon her hinges to let each Gryffindor in, just as Ginny barrelled into Harry from behind.

"Sorry!" she gasped, and fell into step beside him. "What was the password? I could barely hear Ron."

"_Astra Vesperi_," Harry answered, wondering where she had been and how she had gotten separated from the crowd. "Where were you?" he asked.

Ginny paused for a moment before answering, "Something was brought to my attention – I had to get something done quickly."

"It's not about Tom, is it?" Harry asked, worried now.

"Of course not," Ginny replied promptly as they entered the Common Room, waving goodnight and heading to their respective dorms. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief on seeing him trudge up to his room.

Ginny hadn't been quite lying – this new boy was insisting on being called Ophicus and not Tom, so the thing that was 'brought to her attention' was entirely unrelated to any 'Tom' that she might or might not have known. And certainly it didn't have to worry Harry one way or another. Ginny Weasley was tired of being the damsel in distress, the one who had to be constantly rescued or treated as though she was about to break. She had hoped that after her experience in the Department of Mysteries last year, her family and friends would realise that she wasn't so easily broken. Although, she _had_ calmly deliberated with her mother and explained why it really did make sense for her to be at Hogwarts, she was secretly chafing against the fact that it came with a promise to let Harry look after her.

It didn't enter her mind that, had her mother said nothing about the subject at all, she would probably have secretly relished the fact that Harry was so willing, nay, ready, to watch over her. In the circumstances it was entirely the wrong kind of attention – the attention one gives a small child one wishes would grow up –and hadn't Harry told her to grow up just a few days ago, when they sat in the room with Buckbeak? They thought of her as the little girl, the silly little princess suited only to sit in her room and watch as the world crumbled around her.

The truth of the matter was that she had suddenly realised exactly how much of a key role she would certainly play in this year's adventures, and was bemoaning the fact that her very existence had, to this point, been defined as a hanger-on, rather than a central figure. But Tom had changed all that, just as he had in her second year. He had changed all that by coming back.

Standing up after Dumbledore's speech, she walked with her friends towards the door to the Great Hall, Amelia picking up the rear and making sure no first years were left behind. Jeannette and Elisa were intense discussion about the new Slytherin – Jeannette arguing that his looks and bearing alone made him different from the other Slytherins, Elisa arguing that be that as it may he was still a Slytherin and probably still nasty. Gwen Harker had tapped Ginny on the shoulder and made some comment about getting his attention when he strode up to her and pulled her aside.

He must have shoved past a great number of students to get to her, she thought, and admired his perseverance, even though she knew nothing of his motivation. The other Gryffindor girls in her year peered around for her, but Elisa saw her with Tom and motioned for Gwen and Jeannette to keep walking. And so Ginny found herself alone, facing a spectre of her past she had deemed long forgotten.

"What do you want?" she asked, shakily, thinking back desperately to McGonagall's offer of therapy and wondering if she would really need it. Tom looked so very frightening up close; he was an image from her worst nightmares. A cold fear sank into her gut, the painful feeling of actually being the damsel in distress, of not being able to handle her own problems. The assurance that Tom wasn't really all that bad was nothing to her now – the worst part of Tom was that he forced her to relive her first year.

"To apologise," he stated calmly. Ginny gulped, she could feel her knees going, and she wanted this encounter to be over with as soon as possible. She was loosing it – just as surely as she had lost it her first year, the memories of waking up with blood on her hands and guilt in her heart screamed out at her, but Tom said nothing and her agony was sustained.

"For what?" she asked, trying to remain calm even though she could hardly breathe.

"For getting you into that mess your first year. I assume Dumbledore has told you the truth, and I just want to say..." he paused, and Ginny saw in his discomfort that he was in earnest, "I just want to say that I take full responsibility for it, whatever that means. It was my fault, my mistake, and I'm sorry you had to endure that because of it."

Ginny felt her fear sink away as it was replaced by a cold rage. What did he expect her to do; say she accepted his apology and she was really not the worse for wear? But what would be the use of that meaningless lie when she could barely stand in his presence because of the weight of her memories? Did he think that just with that everything would be better? It was almost more comforting to have the old Tom back – the Tom who would try to use her- who was evil to the core, but at least would never pretend that an apology can give someone back a year of their life and four more years of nightmares and terrors when youth and innocence have been callously ripped away. She shook with rage. "You're sorry?" she asked, bitingly. She wanted to berate him for what he had done to her – in her first year and now, with his apology. "Don't be," she began, intending to continue it with some diatribe or another, but what came out, when she took one firm glance in his beseeching, guilty eyes, was only, "It was my own fault."

Her anger melted away, but no fear replaced it this time. She was still raging inside, but she knew that it was no good, that she would never confront anyone, much less Tom, about what had happened to her in her first year. She strode across the room to the nearest table and sat down, waiting for him to leave so she could continue up to the Gryffindor Common Room alone. But he had no intention of leaving her alone just then. "I'm still sorry – I should have been the responsible one, I was almost five years older than you." Ginny blinked as a tear began to fall on her cheek. Tom couldn't see how entirely worse he was making the situation. "I let it get out of hand. I'm sorry."

Another tear fell as Ginny stood and approached Tom. "Show me," she said, low and clear. "I wish I could have forgotten it, I wish I could say that I am all right after that. Your apology means nothing to me, Tom. I've heard you say so many things, so many black lies that just got me deeper and deeper into your scheme. How do I know this isn't one of them? If you're sorry, Tom, prove it. I don't care how, but prove it. You say you take responsibility, but you're just making my problems worse by doing this – you're just making me relive the worst memories of my life. You say it's all your fault, but you expect me to forgive you for it as though you had only made me skin my knee." She paused for breath here, and looked at Tom's face. Her speech was working; he looked wretched. "Some things leave more lasting scars than that. Memories can be the worst scars of all. I can't just forgive you like that – just like I can't forget my first year at Hogwarts." She finished with a sob, and turned toward the door, taking a step towards it. But Tom caught her hand.

"At least give me a chance – call me Ophicus," he said, his voice showing more sympathy than it had in any of his attempted apologies.

Ginny nodded. "Fine, Ophicus. But remember what I said. Things would be better for both of us if we could just each pretend the other didn't exist." She turned to face him, tears rolling down her face now. "Goodbye, Tom," and although he was confident he would see her again the next day, there was a sense of finality. The next day he wouldn't be Tom, he would be Ophicus, and she wouldn't know him. She turned to leave.

"Goodbye, Ginny," he said, although something deeper inside him wanted to say hello.

Ginny had attempted to dry her tears as she ran towards the Gryffindor Common Room where her friends would be waiting, and hoped that no one would notice that her face was red with tears, but she had not a second to spare or she would be caught outside the Common Room with no password. So she hurried, head ducked and back hunched, up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower. She had two levels left to climb when she heard Ron giving the password, but she missed it in her rush to reach the top of the stairs. It was in this state that she bumped into Harry, and for a second before she could quite see out of her tear-clogged eyes, she thought he was Tom.

Fortunately, that was only a second, and she was soon walking next to Harry, as none of the other girls in her year were visible, feeling very put upon as he asked her questions about what had happened while he failed to notice that she had most certainly been crying. It was in this mood that she decided Harry viewed her only as a damsel in need of rescue, not as a human being with complex emotions and motives and goals that superseded any fairy tale ending one might have in mind. It was with these weighty thoughts, and the fear of sinking into that very despised model of the fairy tale damsel, her eyes burning red with tears, that she slowly climbed the stairs to her own room, where the four other girls in her year were coming up with various excuses for her.

"Perhaps she just had to talk to McGonagall again," Amelia suggested, not having seen the red head be pulled aside by the tall, dark, and handsome new Slytherin. "She was gone at the beginning of the feast as well, after all."

Jeannette shook her head decisively. "No, this has something to do with that new Slytherin," she insisted. "I saw him pull her aside."

"That's not true," Elisa commented. "I saw him pull her aside, and told you to keep walking even though Ginny wasn't there."

"Well, I saw him talking to her afterwards. I'm not that dull."

"Oh, just shut it," complained Gwen, impatient with such inane arguing. "The point is that we know for a fact this has something to do with Ophicus Serpens Marvolo."

Jeannette giggled. "That's a very funny name," she laughed. "Funnier even than Draco Malfoy, I believe."

They all had to admit that Ophicus Serpens Marvolo was easily the strangest, most downright unruly name they had ever heard. It mauled the mouth on its birth, rather than rolling smoothly off the tongue like most names.

"Imagine the parents," Gwen commented. "They must just have pulled letters out of a hat or something."

"No," Elisa answered, "I think that Ophicus is a constellation, and Serpens too. Both related to snakes somehow. It's quite the Slytherin name, when you think of it."

There was a silence. No one knew how to ruin a joke quite like Elisa. "I was kidding," Gwen whispered. "Not that it matters anyway."

"What I'm wondering," Amelia said at length, "is what on earth a Slytherin like him had to do with Ginny – and twice he's tried to talk to her since the beginning of the feast. It hasn't been that long."

Jeannette nodded but couldn't find a suitable reason, and Elisa only stared vacantly towards the wall, so they were left in silence until Gwen spoke up. "She is awfully short," she said, "maybe he mistook her for a house elf and went to go give her orders about his laundry."

They all laughed. "Maybe he thought her head was on fire, and wanted to mock her," Jeannette offered, and although this was not strictly as humorous, they all laughed even harder.

"He might have taken her for a teacher and wanted to suck up," Elisa commented, and they peered quizzically at her for a moment until she explained. "Well, Ginny is so collected that she seems older than she is – I've seen first years ask her what subject she taught." Jeannette and Gwen just blinked, but Amelia remembered several occasions when that had been true, and she laughed lightly. It was then that Ginny chose to come in, eyes still a bit red and a horrible scowl on her face.

Seeing her obvious distress, all four girls jumped up from their lounging attitudes and herded Ginny into the room with soothing mumblings and calm finesse. Jeannette pulled a chair into the middle of the room and Amelia sat Ginny down forcefully upon it, holding Ginny's shoulders in place. Once they were sure Ginny wasn't going anywhere, Gwen spoke up. "What'd he do?" she asked.

Ginny blinked. "It's... it's nothing particular," she tried to say, but it didn't work and Gwen frowned visibly.

"We don't want to do this the hard way, Ginny," Jeannette chimed in from beside her. "But you've been upset by something. Tell us."

Ginny decided that after her first year, her friends had turned overprotective on her. Why hadn't they been there when she actually needed them? Although she supposed they had only been eleven as well back then. It was a bit much to ask an eleven-year-old to show decisive action like this. Still, it reeked the sentiment that she was a delicate doll and had to be protected. "Can't I just be unhappy without it being a disaster?" she bit.

"Not when your unhappiness is caused by a ten minute meeting with Ophicus Serpens Marvolo," Amelia answered, and Gwen repeated her question.

Ginny sighed. "He insulted my family," she began. It was a bold faced lie, but one they would accept, and she certainly wasn't going to tell the truth.

"So does Malfoy- every day of the week," insisted Elisa. "This has to be more."

"He insulted me," Ginny began, cautiously, "said he had heard about the Chamber incident in my first year. Reminded me of that."

All four of the girls in Ginny's year knew that Ginny had been taken down into the Chamber of Secrets and almost killed in her first year, but they all treaded careful waters in talking about it, because she had been a shier girl then, writing in her diary all the time and hardly ever talking to them. Not to mention her usual outbursts whenever the subject was brought up. They nodded unanimously. This was an acceptable reason.

"I wouldn't take it too seriously," Gwen said with a wicked smile. "He probably wanted to get you mad – thinks you're some kind of red headed vixen or something."

Ginny shuddered inwardly, and winced outwardly. But Jeannette continued the joke. "Either that or a Gryffindor innocent, easily taken advantage of," she said.

But she knew she had gone too far when Ginny turned pale. "Ew, Slytherin," Elisa reminded them, but Ginny stared into space and said nothing for a few terrifying minutes.

"He didn't really..." Jeannette trailed off when Ginny stayed frozen, and Amelia was left to deal with the situation.

"If he thought that, boy was he in for a surprise – the last person at Hogwarts who is easily taken advantage of is Ginny Weasley," she said quickly and confidently, and Ginny smiled slightly and snapped out of her pallor.

"He was probably picking a fight," offered Elisa. "You know how Slytherins are."

Ginny nodded, grateful for the suggestion. Jeannette laughed, and replied, "Although I don't know if I'd mind him picking fights with me," she said. "But who knows. Since that's all Ginny will tell us, maybe he reminded her of her first year by mistaking her for one, and reminding her that she had to be sorted."

Ginny laughed at that, as did the others, and Gwen laughed. "Or maybe even to tell her that she should go home; the school isn't open to ten year olds."

Ginny hit the dark haired girl sitting in front of her on the top of the head. "That's not fair!" she cried, "You're almost as short as I am! And I do not look like a ten year old!"

Gwen smiled maliciously. "Fine, a nine year old," she answered, and Ginny pulled a pillow from the nearest bed to pummel Gwen Harker with.

Soon enough the room degenerated into a pillow fight as the girls flung themselves at each other, bodies flying everywhere and feathers permeating the air. The chair Ginny had been sitting in had been knocked over, and now provided a major obstacle in the ongoing war. Finally, all five girls collapsed into their beds. Ginny fell at once into a deeper, more contented sleep than she had for a long time, fully mindful of Dumbledore's words recommending that she not forget to have fun in her fifth year at Hogwarts School.


	10. A Bad Night's Sleep

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** This one turned out much longer than I expected it to be, and I haven't even done everything I had planned to do. But I had to stop it there or it would have been half again as long. In any case, I hope you enjoy – more Tom/Ginny, and so forth. Thanks to my reviewers, Fantome (Wonderful to have you back, darling! I was so happy to see your reviews this evening!) and liltrick, and thanks to my Beta reader, Katy.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 10: A Bad Night's Sleep**

Ginny Weasley awoke with a pain in her back from the admittedly haphazard way she had fallen into bed the night before. She yawned and blinked, trying to stretch out the aching muscle, but nothing would properly work, and so, sighing and clutching her back as she stood, she hobbled to her trunk to pull out work robes for the first day of her fifth year at Hogwarts. She hardly saw Jeannette before the blonde girl had cheerfully tapped her shoulder and whispered, "Trying to get out early to meet your new Slytherin, Ginny?"

Ginny blinked, confused. She always overslept – she had naturally assumed that today would be no different, and rolled out of bed ready for the usual rush to get to the Great Hall early enough to catch breakfast before heading to her first class. But looking around and seeing Amelia, Elisa and Gwen still tucked in their own beds and the sun still rising in the pale pink sky barely visible through the crack between the curtains told her something vastly different. "What time is it?" she asked Jeannette groggily.

"Almost five thirty," answered Jeannette cheerfully. Considering the hour, Ginny thought wryly, Jeannette's mood was really astonishing.

"Why are you awake?"

"Same reason as you are, I suppose. I wanted a better look at that new Slytherin so I figured I'd get to the Great Hall early. Besides, I always wake up before you lot – I have to have time to apply the cosmetic spells and all."

Ginny nodded slowly. In her fourth year, Jeannette Arlia had not only discovered members of the male gender, but also the use of charms and potions to hide any blemishes she should have and beautify her rather average features. Ever since, she had been rising early to apply the correct spells before heading to breakfast – Ginny knew this well, but she had always guessed that a few minutes were time enough to apply any charm Jeannette should want – evidently not, as breakfast didn't start for almost half an hour.

Jeannette's face, even with the puffy eyes, splotchy skin, and mussed hair that Ginny could only guess was the result of being halfway through the process of applying various spells, was round and cheerful – and definitely awake – as she sat Ginny down next to her. "I suppose you'll want me to help you with them, now," Jeannette said cheerfully.

Ginny shook her head hurriedly, backing away from her wand-wielding friend. "No, no, no," she assured the other girl. "I thought it was much later – I'll be going back to sleep now," she jabbered. "You know, I always wake up so late I just figured I had again and I hardly even looked around before I was at my trunk reaching for robes and you had started talking to me. Tell me what he says, though, I'm sure you'll find him perfectly despicable." She had backed up to her bed, almost terrified with the prospect of making up her face, and now sat down because she couldn't take another step back.

Jeannette saw her face and frowned. "Well, if you're sure… but it would be nice to have company for once, at least." She turned her big, blue eyes on Ginny and widened her eyes in as pathetic a fashion as she could. "Please, Ginny? Now that you're awake and everything."

Ginny sighed and nodded. "I suppose I wouldn't be able to get any sleep anyway," she whispered and sat down next to her friend in front of the vanity Amelia and Elisa had transfigured out of the inner shelves of Jeannette's dresser. Jeannette grinned as she spread purple goo over her face.

"What does that one do?" Ginny asked glumly.

"Moisturiser – makes sure I can get all the rest of the stuff off," Jeannette answered, smiling, as she rubbed it into her skin. "I suppose it also helps with complexion and such."

Ginny nodded and yawned. "Deadly interesting, this," she quipped.

"Well," Jeannette said, "You'd like it more if you were open to it – give it a shot, you'd be amazed at how much better you look."

Ginny yawned. "I'd prefer people look at me because I have something to say, thank you very much," she muttered.

Jeannette just sighed and rubbed another cream into her face. "Freckle remover," she said, not really caring if Ginny wanted to know.

"But you don't have any freckles," Ginny insisted.

Jeannette just shrugged. "Well, I certainly haven't since I've started using this," she answered. Ginny just rolled her eyes and pulled out her own wand, idly twirling it in her hand as she sat in silence. "So, Ginny," Jeannette said, as if to break the silence, "who is that new Slytherin – and why are you keeping it a secret from the rest of us?"

Ginny closed her eyes. "I'm not hiding anything from you," she said, as calmly as she could. Jeannette couldn't find out – none of her friends could find out – this was her own problem and she was going to deal with it on her own.

"That's a lie and you know it," Jeannette answered quickly. She had probably convinced Ginny to stay awake for the express purpose of hounding her with questions, but Ginny wasn't going to fall for that. "Look, you treat him like he's as bad as You-Know-Who himself. That's not just stuff you've heard from your parents and other Order members. And I may not be the smartest of us, but if I can tell something is up then I'm sure that Amelia has a hunch as to what it is. I just don't want another first year – that was hard on everyone, Ginny, and that's the only other time I can think of you've kept secrets about your actions. We're here to help you, what is it about him that scares you so much?"

Ginny gulped. How much did Jeannette know? Could she have linked Tom to Ginny's first year already? If Ginny was that obvious, it wouldn't be long until it was all over the school that she had been possessed by Voldemort, that she had been stupid enough to let herself fall into the hands of Voldemort's fifteen year old, inexperienced, self. She shook in terror and anger at the very thought of that. "I'm not afraid of Tom," she said, quietly, decisively, as much to convince her self as to persuade her friend.

Jeannette grabbed her shoulder. "Tom? Who's Tom?" she asked, visibly frightened. "I haven't heard you talk about a Tom since your first year. The new Slytherin is Ophicus…" she trailed off, staring Ginny directly in the face. "Oh," she said finally, looking down and setting her vanity in order before turning to Ginny's trunk and demolishing it.

"What are you doing?" Ginny hissed into her friend's ear, but Jeannette wasn't satisfied until Ginny's trunk had been turned inside out, all her things sprawled onto the floor.

"Where's the diary, Ginny? I know you've got it – you're clamming up again and I'm not going to let you. You told me, the last day of your first year, to never let you isolate yourself like that again. You said no diary writing ever again – and I'm not going to let you, Ginny. Where's the diary?" She was a flurry of frustrated panic, and she held Ginny's shoulders so firmly that Ginny couldn't move.

"There is no diary, Jeannette," Ginny whispered, shaking her head. "I promise, there is no diary," and the tears in her eyes spoke for her truthfulness. "I wish it were only a diary," she gasped, as the tears fell and she sunk into silent crying.

Jeannette sat down next to her and pulled her out of control red hair out of her face. "Okay, Ginny. I'm sorry I jumped on that, I really am. It just worries me – it doesn't make sense why you'd be so scared of him, so scared of Hogwarts. You've never cried on the first day of term, and you'd been crying hard – I could tell from your eyes. And besides, you said it yourself that he made you think of your first year, and then you called him Tom – what was I to think? What does he have to do with your first year and your diary, Ginny?"

Ginny gulped. She looked straight at Jeannette and knew that she should probably just tell the girl what was going on, but somehow that would bring up too many other, more horrible things in her mind, and she resolved that maybe it was best for her to just keep her mouth shut and let Jeannette figure out the situation for herself. "I…" she began, and then she just broke down into tears again. She had to tell Jeannette something, the girl just wouldn't relent and take her eyes off of Ginny, releasing her from that paralysing blue gaze.

But finally Jeannette did look away, and she said, sadly, "I can't get you to say anything, Ginny. But you have to know, if something is going to happen to you or if you think something is wrong, you should go to the teachers. That's what they're here for, Dumbledore and McGonagall and them. Or you should go to your friends, because any of us would be proud to be the one to stand up for you. If he's bothering you, it doesn't matter how cute he is, he's just the Slytherin prick who was picking on our friend."

Ginny smiled at Jeannette's concern, and stopped crying. "Don't worry – I don't think he meant to make me cry," she said at length. "Everything's under control," she added.

Jeannette smiled down at her and stood up quickly, managing the distance to her vanity in two steps and, positioned in front of the mirror, fixed her face up with two words. "Breakfast starts in a few minutes, Ginny. Why don't we go down together?" she asked.

Ginny blinked, shocked that her friend was so suddenly ready. "I thought that took you half an hour," she admitted.

Jeannette wrinkled her nose. "That would be horrible! To have to spend half an hour on my face each morning! No, I just saw you awake and figured something was up, so I came up with an excuse."

Ginny grinned at her friend and had a hard time not laughing – all this time she hadn't noticed Jeannette was still in her bright purple nightgown. Quickly, the two girls changed into robes and silently they exited the room to head to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Down in the Slytherin dungeons, Tom had awoken even earlier than Ginny, and was sitting restlessly in his bed, ruminating on his situation at Hogwarts. It would be good to go to classes again, he realised with a hint of a smile. It would be very good to go to classes again. It felt so good to just hold a wand after those years and years of timeless sleep, his fingers wrapped about the wood with a sense of grace and action that was pure heaven when his body ached like it did now. But somehow, he was disconsolate about everything except the prospect of going back to classes.

Ginny had sorely hurt him in her conviction that he was evil, in her persistent fear of him. She said she needed proof, and he understood that. He would have written her down as a complete fool if she didn't need proof, but at the same time he winced under the very idea of that innocent little girl pinning him down as evil. She had been so trusting, so naïve. But, he reasoned, that had been five years ago, according to Dumbledore. Ginny Weasley had grown up.

And my, how she had grown. Tom had barely recognised the young girl for his picture of little, freckled, clumsy Ginny Weasley, and would have guessed she was someone entirely unrelated had he not been expecting a Weasley – and she was the only Weasley girl. Of course, he knew that he had seen the right girl. The missing professor through the sorting ceremony – McGonagall – had probably spoken to her before hand, warned the young Weasley about him. He sighed.

He was still something to be warned of, even to the people that accepted him as not as evil a young man as ever graced the good earth. He sighed and sunk deeper into his rumination. He had left the Great Hall in a desolate mood, having resolved that Ginny spoke the truth – it would be better for both of them to each just ignore the other. He strode down to the dungeon slowly, disappointed, because the last thing he wanted to do was relinquish any meetings with the girl he had been so taken with when she was only eleven. And Ginny had even dared him to prove his truthfulness, so why shouldn't he take that as a request for further relations? Something in the back of his mind revolted at the very thought of allowing her to continue in her incorrect perception, and although he wasn't sure how, he knew he had to prove his sincerity to her. When he had arrived before the wall that would open to his password, the first years had long been escorted inside, leaving the corridor empty. "Serpensentri," he had called impatiently.

But thinking back on it, he decided that perhaps he would have been better off to just stay outside and sleep in the empty hallway, because things certainly hadn't looked up for him when he reached his dormitory and sunk onto the bed, letting out a huge sigh as he pulled off his polished black shoes. Behind him, someone spoke up.

"What the bloody Hell is Potter doing in my dormitory?" cried a boy from the opposite corner. Tom snapped his head around to scan the darkened room for Harry Potter, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Someone had the presence of mind to flick on the lights and Tom saw a boy with hair so light blonde it might be white staring at him from the foot of his bed. "Oh, you're not Potter, you're that new bloke," he answered proudly. "No scar. No scarhead." He smiled and laughed at his own joke and the other three boys laughed along with him. "Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," offered the boy at the foot of Tom's bed, the one who had spoken to him. "Slytherin Prefect. I'll introduce you around tomorrow – you can't tell how much a good introduction will help these days."

Malfoy had done all this without so much as noticing the prefect badge on Tom's lapel, and Tom stood and pulled off his robes, making sure to display it proudly. "Ophicus Marvolo," he said, offering his hand to be shaken. "Slytherin Prefect." This boy's conceited manner and assurance put Tom on edge, and the very thought that Tom Riddle would need introductions to get him in with a group of Slytherins was blasphemy to the black-haired boy. His charm and natural talent would prove to anyone that he was a powerful wizard, and soon he would have the Slytherins here in awe of him, just as they had been in the old days at Hogwarts. He hardly needed some whining good-old- boy to allow him entrance to the club. Tom had decided to prove that with one flick of his robes. Malfoy gaped at the badge.

"But you can't have two Slytherin Prefects," he muttered.

"Dumbledore handed this to me himself," Tom answered quickly. "I don't know about you – maybe you've been replaced, Malfoy."

One of the boys, the one who had lit the room, snorted from his side of the room. "Malfoy? Replaced? Never. His father's on the board of directors."

Tom just laughed. "Well, maybe someone finally decided to reward competence rather than ancestry. You never know."

Malfoy stood up. "You won't get far by insulting me, Marvolo," he hissed, and soon the light was out and Tom was left to sleep.

Somehow, he hadn't gotten along at all well with his new housemates. He hadn't expected them to instantly be his best friends, after all, what was Slytherin about but preserving the old order – fostering ambition in those who were worthy of having it and denying power to those who were obviously unworthy? But he knew he had a long way to go to achieve even their trust, much less their friendship, and somehow he knew that the warm adulation he had felt in his previous years at Hogwarts as a model student and slick Slytherin were long gone. He sighed and thought he ought to get down to breakfast, but the meal wouldn't even start for half an hour unless Hogwarts schedules had changed since his days there, and he doubted they had. So he waited, and he thought.

Suddenly it seemed strange, Dumbledore handing him a Prefect's badge and telling him he could continue his responsibilities, because of course they would have chosen another boy in the fifth year to be Prefect, and of course that boy would be proud of his achievement, simply by dint of being a Slytherin, and of course whoever he was wouldn't want to be displaced. Tom shook his head. Either Dumbledore hated this Malfoy, or he had designed to start an argument between the two boys, or both. Tom laughed. Dumbledore was still as cunning as ever, and for once that formidable power was not used against him, allowing him to appreciate it.

But the very thought of someone mistaking him for Harry Potter – the very idea of Tom Riddle being confused with the Gryffindor dream boy – sickened him. Malfoy couldn't have done him a worse insult, and he had a vague idea that the other boy knew that. Harry Potter, with his faultless goodness, his ability to break rules and not get punished, his insistence that he was, in fact, at the centre of everything, and his annoying habit of being the hero of every story Tom heard Ginny Weasley tell irked him to no small degree. He wondered bleakly what Harry Potter had done to get all the world to love him, what Harry Potter had done to get young Ginny to adore him to the point that she did. All Harry had was a scar and a history of standing up to Voldemort – and winning, Tom thought bleakly.

Of course, when thought of in that way, it was painfully obvious. Harry Potter had a history of trying to deal with the horrible problem that Tom Riddle had caused. And for that Tom hated the Gryffindor more. Somehow, Voldemort was a personal problem between himself and Ginny, one that he would deal with on his own, and not one that required the assistance and guidance of Dumbledore's favourite student. Harry Potter was just getting in the way of things.

He hadn't slept hardly at all the night before, forced into wakefulness by nightmares of his time in the Chamber of Secrets and by worries of his future at Hogwarts. And through it all, his ears had been ringing, buzzing with hatred, as with high-pitched laughter. He slid out of his bed and opened his trunk, taking out a set of work robes and pulling them on before turning to exit and take his time up to breakfast. No one else was awake.

When Tom Riddle entered the Great Hall, it was deserted. The only people at the tables were a few Ravenclaws, scattered down their table with their noses stuck in books, and two girls at the Gryffindor table, cheerfully talking and laughing. Tom's eyes grazed over the Ravenclaws and came to rest on the two Gryffindors – Ginny Weasley and someone else. Breakfast had just started, no one would come for quite a while, he decided, as he went to sit by the two Gryffindor girls.

Her friend noticed him first, and prodded Ginny, nodding towards him as he came towards their table. Ginny made eye contact with him, and her lower lip trembled in fear, but she took one ragged breath and composed herself, looking paler but confident and aware. He sat down without saying anything.

"You have the wrong table, Marvolo," Ginny declared scathingly. "Your table is on the other side of the hall."

Her friend joined in with a condescending air. "You might not know, as you're new to the school and all, but we sit at tables by house here" she began, but Tom cut her off.

"I assure you, I know how the Hogwarts system works quite well, being a Prefect. And as no one from your house is in need of this seat, I assure you I am well within my rights as a student to sit here." He glared at Ginny and her friend, uncertain of what to say next.

"You're Prefect?" asked Ginny, shocked. "What about Malfoy?"

"I suppose I've displaced him," answered Tom. "Either that or there are two Slytherin Prefects."

Her friend shook her head. "Just what we need. More Slytherins to chase us around and bully the first years in the hallways."

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met," began Tom, "My name is Ophicus Marvolo."

"I know," answered Ginny's friend. "You told the whole school last night, unless you've forgotten." There was an awkward pause when it seemed like the girl was not going to give Tom her name. This girl appeared to hate him more even than Malfoy. "I'm Jeannette Arlia," she finally said.

"A pleasure," said Tom curtly, before adding, "And I certainly don't bully the first years. What good would that do? They're more useful when they're not so scared," and smirking wickedly.

Ginny's friend, Jeannette, laughed, but Ginny just glared at him. "And I suppose that's all you care about – their use to you?" she said softly, "Some way of thinking for a Prefect." She set down her spoon and stood up. "I should be going, Jeannette. I can still get in some studying." She nodded to Tom and to her friend and took two steps toward the doorway before she was again halted, this time by Hermione Granger entering. She took a step back and sat back down as Hermione happily waved to her, missing Tom completely or only seeing his black hair.

Hermione had soon sat down next to Ginny and caught a glimpse of Tom's face. "What are you doing here, Ophicus?" she asked calmly, though her face spoke worlds to her panic.

"Eating my breakfast," he answered, coldly. "But I sense that I am not welcome," he added, and began to stand, but Ginny's friend spoke up.

"No, sit down, we've been terribly rude to you and all you've tried is to follow Dumbledore's requests, to foster friendship between the houses. I apologise for these two," she said, nodding towards Ginny and then Hermione, "and I hope you'll accept our apology."

Tom was shocked, he hadn't been offended in the slightest, but he hadn't thought of the potential implications of what he had said to Ginny before he said it. He was returning to his table to admit defeat that he had failed miserably at regaining her trust for the time being. But now he stopped and turned back to the three girls. "Thank you, but I assure you I am not offended," he answered coolly, "Ginny was referring to her first year, I assume? It is understandable, from what I have heard it was truly a horrible experience."

Hermione had frozen at the mention of Ginny's first year, and Ginny glared at Tom more than ever, but Jeannette appeared to be getting a very positive impression of him and smiled widely before she realised what she was smiling about and the hints of happiness vanished from her face. "That was a hard year for everyone, I think," she said.

"Certainly," replied Tom, and they all ate in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. "But I really should be going to my own table. Soon enough the room will be full of hungry students."

They nodded, and he left to return to the still empty Slytherin table. Students were trickling in at a faster rate now, and soon there would be someone to remark upon his odd placement. Back at the Gryffindor table, however, he had a very powerful spokesperson. "He seems nice, Ginny," Jeannette said.

Ginny said nothing, and Hermione spoke up. "Appearances can be deceiving," she said quickly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't trust him," Ginny answered shortly. "He's probably lying with every word he says."

Jeannette just shook her head. "You're prejudiced, Ginny, you can't hardly know him. You just don't trust a new Slytherin because you're afraid of new people or something since your first year – especially not a new Slytherin who shows interest in you; well, maybe he doesn't have an ulterior motive. Did you ever think of that one?"

"You're just saying that because he looks better than any other boy in his year," Ginny muttered. Jeannette was silent, and for once Hermione had nothing to say.

Soon enough, just as Ophicus had predicted, the Great Hall was full of students and Harry and Ron had appeared next to Hermione. The three were speaking under their breath to each other, Hermione doing most of the talking and appearing to be very excited about something. Jeannette turned to Gwen, Amelia, and Elisa, who were just arriving from the Gryffindor Tower to sit beside their friends. "Ginny, you're up early," Gwen commented.

"I caught her going out to meet with her Slytherin," answered Jeannette, grinning conspiratorially at her friends. "He was here at six in the morning."

Elisa rubbed her eyes sleepily and even Amelia looked surprised. "And so were you?" she asked. Jeannette nodded.

"He seemed nice," she added, as Gwen shoved some more food into her mouth.

Elisa's eyes went wide and Amelia gaped in wonderment, but Gwen nearly spit out all the porridge she had been eating voraciously. "You talked to him?" Amelia gasped.

Jeannette nodded. "He came over to sit by us, and was all charm. He's Prefect this year, so you'll get to see him plenty."

"But that's impossible, Malfoy's Prefect," answered Amelia quickly. "And we can't have two Slytherin Prefects in the same year."

Jeannette just shrugged. "He said he was, and I saw the badge myself. He's a Prefect."

Amelia just smiled in wonderment.

The owls came swooping in before long, and a schedule plopped down in front of each of the girls. "Charms first!" cried Ginny happily, perusing her schedule for the day before heading towards her first class. All five of the girls sat together through a rather predictable first Charms lesson. Afterwards, they trudged up to the north tower for Divination.

Professor Trelawney had broken her tradition with Ginny's class – instead of predicting the foul demise of any student; she would always gaze deeply into Ginny's eyes and weepingly confide in the girl that someone she loved dearly would pass away over the course of the year. Of course, this had not happened yet, unless you counted Sirius, but Ginny's casual relationship with the man had hardly qualified as 'loving him dearly'. But still, the strange lady gazed at Ginny as she entered the room and said, "I am sorry, darling, but the fatal day nears. Someone you love will pass before the end of the year."

"Yeah, right," answered Ginny as she took her seat. The incense was more powerful than it had ever been, and Ginny wondered if the professor was perhaps compensating for having to share the post with a Centaur by being even more forcibly her old self. But the warm room and powerful smell was getting to her and she suddenly realised how little sleep she had gotten the night before. Trelawney began to lecture in her dreamy voice, and Ginny felt herself slipping away.

She was in her common room, crying spasmodically, and someone was comforting her, but in the back of her head she heard a high pitched laughter, an unnatural laugh, one that she had only heard once in her life and had always prayed she would never hear again. Her stomach lurched and she tried to pull herself away but all she could do was clutch whoever it was that was comforting her and cry, afraid and unhappy. She looked up for a moment and saw – it was Tom.

He was laughing.

She awoke with a start, gasping for air and looking around her warily. Her friends were there, standing up. Divination was over. She flung her bag across her shoulders and left the room, following them. "What were you dreaming about?" asked Jeannette quietly.

"Nothing. Just another nightmare," Ginny answered and her friend accepted it.


	11. The Good Slytherin Prefect

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** Not so much T/G interaction in this chapter, but I just had to include it for personal reasons. Just so that you all know, I've planned this out as much more of an H/G/T/G/Sixth year fic/General fic than a straight up T/G piece, so while it deals with what I think of as the more interesting aspects of the Gin'n'Tonic ship, there's a lot more planned and a lot more going on than romance. (Possibly because I can't write pure romance because I can't think pure romance.) So... I guess the point is that you shouldn't be surprised if a chapter goes by and there isn't a tension-laden!Scene or even a T/G!Scene. In any case, thanks to my reviewers, Fantome (I thought the male part was assumed, but I guess I was wrong. This chapter has more of Professor Quinn in it - hope you enjoy), Sarah (I'm so glad you're liking the fic more now), Pixie (grins madly yes, but what do you think of her?), P-oenix, and Amazing.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 11: The Good Slytherin Prefect**

"Welcome, class," enunciated professor Aleta Quinn, eyes scanning her advanced Defense class, the sixth years recommended to her by Dumbledore and the heads of houses. "You have been recommended to me very highly by Headmaster Dumbledore, so I trust you shall all be ready and eager to learn more." She smiled slightly.

Three seats from the front and between his two best friends, Harry Potter looked at her with calm indifference. He wasn't thinking about Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he wasn't thinking about his professor with mousy brown hair and a pale face who was trying, unsuccessfully, to appear to be a stringent and demanding teacher, he wasn't thinking about the rather frightening fact that she had drawn a rather complicated diagram on the board, but rather about the dark haired Slytherin sitting across the room from him and already dutifully copying down the diagram from the board. What was he going to do about Tom Riddle?

"I finished my Hogwarts training five years ago, when you all were still in your first year," Professor Quinn said with a smile. "I studied to become an Auror, but I found that I had much more aptitude for thinking about Defense than actually practicing it – which makes me perfectly suited for a position such as this one," she said. "Dumbledore was kind enough to offer me the position when he found out I was not, in fact, accepted into any slots as an Auror."

"A failed Auror? Some great teacher," whispered Ron. Harry blinked, shocked that he had missed such a piece of information, and decided to pay attention to his teacher rather than Tom Riddle. Professor Quinn turned to the diagram on the board.

"I suppose some of you have come in expecting every day to be another practical adventure in fighting off Werewolves and Vampires," she began. "While the purpose of this course is surely to make you able to fight off the very worst that the wizarding world can throw at you and to protect others while doing so, I am sure you see the foolishness in actually bringing such dangerous creatures into Hogwarts School." Hermione nodded in assent as the Professor continued. "Which isn't to say, of course, that there won't be a practical portion of this class." Harry and his friends breathed a sigh of relief, and they felt most of their classmates relax as well.

Professor Quinn laughed. "You've probably had a rather rocky time with professors lately, what with Death Eaters, Lockhart, and the infamous Umbridge and I would guess you're amazed that you've learned everything to an O.W.L. level. So perhaps it is time to begin." She tapped the board behind her and the diagram rippled slightly. "There are, at base, two types of defense. The first is, of course, fighting whatever you come upon in life effectively and intelligently. The second is preventing anything from attacking you at all. My sense is that most of the teaching at Hogwarts concerns preparing our students to do battle when the protection afforded them runs out. However, as advanced students, I believe it is high time you have some contact with the latter form of defense, which is possibly more important. This," she said, tapping the board again, "is a model of one of the wards engraved onto the cornerstones of Hogwarts School. These wards are what prevent Death Eaters from Apparating into Hogwarts today and attacking the students inside. They protect the school from almost anything.

"A ward is a very complicated thing to create and involves not only an intricate design such as this one, but a complex incantation and an immense amount of power. Even so, most wards run out after a short time, making such wards as those protecting our school today among the most complicated spells you will ever come across. Even a little tinkering by a very accomplished wizard can destroy the entire rune. Few people in history would have been capable of them, and their lasting existence is proof that our founders are among the most powerful wizards of any time." Professor Quinn laughed slightly. "I assume none of you have read chapter twelve of your textbook?"

Hermione and Tom both raised their hands confidently and Harry at that moment glared forcefully at Tom. Hermione looked over and almost gasped. Professor Quinn nodded and her smile widened. "I see some of you have, congratulations. Perhaps you two can get started on your project while the rest of the class reads. The rest of you, please open your books to chapter twelve and read about the formation of ward engravings." She turned to her desk and sat down, motioning for Tom and Hermione to come forward and speak to her. Harry turned to Ron, not even bothering to take out his book.

"What are we going to do about him?" he whispered.

Ron shrugged. "I haven't the slightest, but we've got to do something before he starts attacking. He's got to be up to something." He was now peering at Tom and Hermione standing before Professor Quinn. Hermione laughed and he frowned even more. "I don't trust him."

"Of course not," Harry reassured his friend. "But what are we going to do? We can't just attack him, we'd be expelled if we hurt him before he did anything."

Ron nodded slowly. "Yeah, but if he so much as touches my sister... or Hermione..."

"That changes everything. But that hasn't happened yet."

Hermione and Tom nodded at Professor Quinn and moved to a corner of the room to discuss something. Ron shook his head angrily. "But that's the problem – once something happens, it'll be too late. We've got to show him we mean business, or something."

Harry nodded, and was about to reply, when Professor Quinn herself appeared in front of them. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," she began, still cheerful and smiling, "I'm guessing you can't read without your books on your desks. Do you have any questions?"

"Um, no," answered Harry, and he pulled out his book to read for the rest of the lesson. After class, Hermione hurried over to the two boys as they packed up their books.

"Personally, I don't think that went so badly," she began, when Ron interrupted her.

"Hermione, you had to work with Riddle, you can't say that that's not bad. And you hated last year because there were no practical classes. How can you say you enjoyed that class?"

"Well, Professor Quinn is certainly no Umbridge. And just wait until you find out about the project – she made me swear secrecy, or I'd tell you. And about Riddle, he's not so horrible after all, I mean, he had already read the chapter twice and he agreed with me that it's really just a review of Ancient Runes, so everything went quite well."

Ron looked about to burst. "Hermione, he's the madman that almost killed my sister – almost killed you, too – in our second year, how can you say that Riddle isn't that bad? He's... why, he's You-Know-Who!"

A cold voice spoke up behind Ron. "Still going on about that, are you? One would think, with the way you revere Dumbledore, you'd take his word that I wasn't a Dark Lord. Of course, one should never trust Gryffindors to listen to reason."

The three turned to face Tom, and Harry answered with as much venom as the Slytherin himself, "I thought I killed you in my second year."

Tom just shook his head and laughed. "My guess is that you did a very good job of beating up the Diary, but since I was not nor have I ever been the Diary, I remained relatively unharmed."

"What do you want?" asked Hermione.

"To make a deal with you three. You call me Ophicus, and drop your inane insistence that I am Lord Voldemort, and I leave you alone for the rest of the year."

Harry frowned. "That's it?" he asked. Tom nodded.

"You promise?" Ron broke in, suddenly very aggressive. Tom nodded again. "Ginny too?"

"What?" Tom snapped.

"You promise to leave my sister alone too?"

"If she abides by your half of the deal, of course," said Tom, already cognizant of the fact that Ginny Weasley certainly hadn't stopped considering him Lord Voldemort and probably never would.

"Fine," answered Ron quickly, forcing the other two to agree. Tom smiled.

"Good to meet you," he added quietly as he walked away and left the trio alone in the room with Professor Quinn. They quickly exited.

At lunch, Harry and Ron were still arguing about what they were going to do about Tom Riddle. "I swear, if he so much as touches Ginny..." Ron was muttering into his plate when Hermione finally snapped.

"Ron, he promised not to. You can just relax. He's not as bad as you think he is – Dumbledore trusts him, why won't you give him a chance?"

"He's Tom bloody Riddle, Hermione. This isn't a time to give people second chances."

Hermione sighed angrily and turned away from them, huffing as she did that this was exactly how they treated Snape, and Snape was in the Order, and wouldn't they just grow up and learn to trust Dumbledore.

"This is nothing like Snape, Hermione," Ron insisted, talking to the back of her head. "This is Tom Riddle. He's You-Know-Who. He's not just any Death Eater. He's already killed someone, and he liked it. This is Tom Riddle we're talking about, not Severus Snape."

Harry nodded vehemently and added, "Dumbledore doesn't want us to do anything anyway, he just wants us to sit and bide our time while the world crashes down around us. Dumbledore isn't infallible either, Hermione."

"When hasn't Dumbledore come through for you, Harry? When has he abandoned you or led you down the wrong path? When has he been wrong?" She turned to glare at Harry but instead of backing off he glared right back.

"He was wrong with Quirrel and with Moody – twice he's hired teachers who have turned out to be Death Eaters or worse. He's abandoned us every year, he's never been there when I do the fighting, he wasn't there when I confronted Voldemort in my first year, or my second year, and he made us do the work in our third year, and he couldn't save me from almost dying in my fourth year. He couldn't save Cedric. He's saved my life once – last year – but the only reason he had to was because he wasn't telling me everything I needed to know, because he was lying to me and keeping secrets from me since the day I've been born. Yes, Dumbledore is great and wonderful, but just because he says something doesn't mean we shouldn't think for ourselves, Hermione," Harry spat, and Hermione's eyes widened. She fell silent.

"Back to Tom Riddle," Ron muttered, but Harry silenced him with another angry glare.

"Look, we can't do anything now," Harry said, "So why don't we just drop it for the moment. Don't worry about Ginny, Ron. She can handle herself, I'm sure." Ron nodded silently. No one spoke for the rest of lunch, they were too shocked at Harry's explosion.

The advanced Transfiguration class that afternoon was packed with students, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were glad that they got to class early to catch seats together. By the time Malfoy arrived, Crabbe and Goyle in tow, it was clear that he would have to sit next to Tom. Harry and Ron supposed neither would mind overmuch, but Hermione sighed in discontent.

McGonagall welcomed the class in the customary way, and began a lecture on the upcoming lessons; they would begin studying human Transfiguration and hopefully begin casting simple spells by the Christmas holidays. Hermione was dutifully taking notes, but Harry and Ron's gazes kept floating to Tom Riddle, who was giving Malfoy the cold shoulder and avoiding eye contact with the other boy. Harry was shocked – he had always supposed the two boys he disliked so adamantly would get along well, to see the visible animosity between them gave him newfound respect for Tom Riddle. He couldn't help staring, at least a little.

Class seemed to drag on interminably, but when McGonagall finally concluded her lecture and Hermione looked up from her notes, packing the scroll carefully into her bag, Harry decided he would have rather class continue for another few hours. Both Tom and Malfoy approached the three Gryffindors. Malfoy reached them first. "Having trouble taking your eyes off of me, Potter?" he laughed. "I never thought you would be one to swing that way, although I daresay the Weaselette will be disappointed."

Harry fumed, and was about to tell Malfoy off, when Tom stepped up.

"I believe, Malfoy, he was trying to get my attention – Mr. Potter and I have an agreement that perhaps he wanted to speak to me about?" Harry caught his eyes and nodded tightly. "You must be quite the conceit to think that a face like yours could attract attention, no matter how incomprehensible the other party," Tom smirked, and Malfoy flushed red. "Run along now, Malfoy," he said, and Malfoy stalked away a few steps, staying within earshot.

Tom turned to Harry and said in an undertone, "I know you still don't trust me."

"Why should I?" countered Harry.

"Because I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and not assuming you're another whining, idiotic Gryffindor who isn't even worth my time. And I must not be so crazy if I hate Malfoy like that, right?"

Harry smiled slightly. "You have a point, Ophicus."

Hermione, from past Ron, nodded. "Finally, he's listening to me," she muttered, but Ron was gaping at Harry.

"You can't be serious, Harry, remember _who he is_!" Ron's eyes bugged out and he shook his head incredulously at the grinning Harry before turning to Tom. "I still don't trust you, Riddle," he snarled.

Tom sighed. "Well, we can't always have what we want, can we?" he said causally, and then added, "At least I can count on your somewhat intelligent friends to rein you in." _He's as stubborn as his sister, _he thought, but he didn't voice the opinion as he hardly thought it would aid him in dealing with the older Weasley. With a curt nod, he exited the room, the three Gryffindors following just close enough to hear Malfoy berating him in the hallway.

"Why not just have Dumbledore resort you into Gryffindor if you like them better, Marvolo?" sniped Malfoy. "No intelligent Slytherin sides with Scar-face and his two cronies."

Tom turned on his heel and grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders, effectively stopping him in his tracks, before speaking again. "No intelligent Slytherin would live in awe of you. Which stands to reason that I am the only intelligent Slytherin, and you can have no conception of what an _intelligent _Slytherin would or would not do," he spat.

People were now stopping and staring, on their way from their afternoon class back to the Great Hall, and Harry recognized Ginny along with some other fifth year Gryffindor girls among the crowd, Ginny growing paler by the second. He tried to edge towards her, but couldn't.

Draco Malfoy snorted and shook Tom's hands off of his shoulders. "Don't you even touch me, blood traitor," he sneered. "I won't be sullied by your dirty hands!" He looked for Crabbe and Goyle, who were flanking him and doing their best to look powerful in a moment. "You're a poor excuse for a Slytherin, you are," he hissed.

Tom had to fight hard to resist the urge to punch Malfoy then and there, but he managed beautifully, and instead just glared. "For your information, Malfoy, I have never botched a spell in my life," he spat. It wasn't quite true, there had been the one, but he supposed that had more to do with his limited understanding of his opponent and not any error in the execution of the spell. "Which I am fairly confident can't be said of you. Ambition and skill can't be measured in a bank account and a pedigree, Malfoy."

Tom turned to leave, but Malfoy had pulled out his wand and shot a curse at him before he could take two steps. It just bounced off the black-haired boy, who turned quietly to face Malfoy. "No magic in the corridors, Malfoy, and no attacking a fellow student. One would think you would know those, what with you being a Prefect and all. Fifteen points from Slytherin for your callous disregard for the rules when you are supposed to serve as an example to fellow students." With that, he walked away, and the shocked Malfoy stood, motionless.

"Gryffindor lover!" shouted Malfoy at his retreating back, but everyone who saw it knew that Ophicus Serpens Marvolo had won the battle, and probably the war.

"Did you see that?" whispered Amelia into Ginny's ear. "He took points from his own house! I've never seen a Slytherin Prefect do that before!"

Ginny nodded expressionlessly, her entire body too shaken and cold to respond any more. Her mind was overturning itself, and her body wasn't ready for it. Was it possible that Tom wasn't as bad as he seemed? Was it possible that she should have forgiven him?

They had just come from an interminable History of Magic lecture, and Ginny had almost fallen asleep again, only to stop herself for fear of another dream about Tom. But confronting him in the hallway was even worse, because it forced her into the realization that this Tom was different from the one she had gotten used to over four years of thinking, the one who was evil to the core. It wasn't possible. Tom Riddle was evil, Tom Riddle was her worst nightmare.

Amelia was talking again. "I can't wait for the next Prefect meeting. It should be interesting – now that we have a good Slytherin Prefect." She smiled happily and continued down the hall. Ginny stopped dead in her tracks to stare. Amelia, however, was almost skipping.

This was not good. This was most certainly not good.


	12. Nightmare Visitations

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** This chapter was a pain to write, and the next chapter will be too, so it might take a while to post, but I don't post something I'm not basically happy with, and I'm happy with this chapter. I hope you are too. Thanks go to my beta-reader Katy (who saves me from immeasurable embarrassment and defeat with her edits), and reviewers (more this time!) Pixie (You can lust after Malfoy in another fic. While I admit that there's a chance Canon!Draco could have classically good looks, I do not attribute to him the sexy personality so many authors do), Fantome (thank you thank you thank you, and I guess I have two cameos instead of one in this fic. grins madly), Amazing, lovely-lily-flower, and EriEka.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 12: Nightmare Visitations**

"It's no good, I tell you, it's just no good," Harry Potter moaned as he walked with his best friend from the Quidditch field. "He's got to be up to something, or else he wouldn't be bothering her, but with all the work and Quidditch practice we've got we can't do a thing without telling Dumbledore, who steadfastly refuses to believe that Riddle – Marvolo – is still evil."

Ron shook his head sadly. "I know, mate, but you should see this Ophicus at prefect meetings – he's well on the way to being Head Boy, I daresay. He's scarier than Hermione is; volunteers to take minutes _every_ time. Dumbledore and McGonagall just love him, talk to him before and after meetings more often than the actual Head Boy or Girl, I'd say. He's the only Slytherin prefect who takes points from his own house, _and _the only prefect besides Hermione and me that stands up to Malfoy." Seeing Harry's angered expression, Ron quickly back-pedalled. "I think he's up to something as much as you do, but getting the goods on him is almost impossible."

Harry nodded grimly. The problem was that although Tom Riddle was finding more and more reasons to run into Ginny in the hallways, there was nothing that either of them could do about it. He was breaking no rules in talking to her, and as long as Ginny remained resolutely silent on the issue, neither Harry nor Ron had the heart to talk to her about it. She appeared to be on her game in Quidditch – having made the team after a very close call between her and a third year prodigy – and was studying, if anything, harder than ever. She was gregarious and cheerful while around them and her friends said they had no idea that anything was wrong with the girl, so Harry and Ron could say nothing to the new boy's detriment. Harry sighed angrily. "It's just no good, Ron. He's up to something – he wouldn't be talking to Ginny otherwise."

"I heard my name," called a voice behind them as Ginny ran to catch up with the two boys, having taken a marginally longer time in the showers. "What's this about talking to me?"

Ron shook his head. "It's nothing, Ginny," he muttered.

"It's about Ophicus, isn't it?" she asked, grabbing her brother's arm and pulling him to a halt, staring up at him. "You're going into overprotective older brother mode because Ophicus Marvolo has been talking to me?" She paused for a moment before continuing. "I can handle it, Ron. He's not trying to take over the world; he's just helping me with my Potions."

Ron's eyes flashed with anger and Harry, standing a few feet away, could barely believe his ears. "Ginny!" Ron shouted. "Remember who this is we're talking about! He might be parading under a new name and pretending to be friendly, but he's good at changing his name and charming his adversaries – you _know _that. Or you should, after your first year. This is just what mum was worried about, you turning naïve and allowing him to take advantage of you again! You're just asking to be sent home for the rest of the year. I promise you that if you don't show a little more caution in your dealings with _Tom Riddle_, because that's who he is, Ginny, don't deny it, I _will_ owl mum and she _will_ take you out of this school in a second."

Ginny stood, motionless for a moment, before she walked past them and continued towards the school. Harry could tell she was shaking, but whether because of anger or fear he didn't know. "Don't treat me like a small child, Ronald, and don't act like one," she called back to them. "I know what I'm doing." She paused, a few yards in front of them, before turning and looking directly at Ron, her face calm and a smile creeping to her lips. "Besides, I could always tell mum where you and Hermione have been going after prefect meetings. I don't imagine she'd take too kindly to that, now would she?"

Ron blushed to his ears and his sister calmly walked away. Harry couldn't help thinking that with the way she had so easily handled the two of them, Riddle might be possible after all. He smiled at the thought, but had to hurriedly snap back to his senses and run to catch up with Ron, who was streaking towards the castle and his sister, furious.

When they reached the common room, Ginny was nowhere to be seen, and sighing, Harry pulled Ron aside before they headed up to their own dormitory. "You and Hermione, mate?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. He wasn't sure if he believed Ginny's threat or not – after all, these were his two best friends, if anyone knew that something was going on, he would.

Ron gulped and his ears turned pink again. "No, of course not," he insisted, voice shaking a bit. "I mean, she pulls me off to the library every so often, but not like that. It's just – Ginny could say whatever she wanted, mum would believe her in a second because she's the girl and all."

Harry nodded very slowly, and frowned. He didn't know Ginny to pull threats out of thin air, and Ron wouldn't be so embarrassed about an unwarranted claim. "Then what was she talking about? And why are your ears pink?"

Ron laughed slightly. "Well, just think about it – Ginny telling Mum about you and Hermione, even if it wasn't true – making up some sordid affair or another." Ron shuddered at the thought, and Harry felt his face warming. Hermione was a wonderful friend, but the very memory of Rita Skeeter's insinuations about the two of them made him embarrassed.

Deciding that Ron's answer was acceptable, he nodded and smiled a bit. "But if something were to happen, you know, between you and Hermione, you'd tell me, right?" he asked, more for reassurance that he was, indeed, still Ron's best friend.

"Of course, Harry," Ron assured him. Harry broke into an all out grin as they both climbed the stairs to their dormitory, exhausted from the Quidditch practice.

Harry fell asleep faster than he would have thought possible, but he supposed that Quidditch was at least good for that. He could hear Ron snoring away in the nearby bed even before he dozed off, and the other three boys' breathing served as a makeshift lullaby. The fact that Ginny had been bluffing in her threat to tell her mother about Ron and Hermione comforted him strangely – it showed how easy it was for her to tell what would humiliate a person, what could be used against them or for them. And that meant that she perhaps stood a chance against Riddle. He smiled at the thought of the small girl defeating even that formidable opponent as he fell softly to sleep. But his slumber was soon rudely invaded by another dream.

He was in the Chamber of Secrets again, the strangely bright and warm Chamber of Secrets, torches were flickering and a table was sitting calmly in the middle of the cavernous space, plush red chairs surrounding it. He felt strangely comfortable in the environment, but the light and warmth jarred him, were caustic to his eyes and skin. He was waiting, waiting patiently, but for exactly what he didn't know.

Then he heard footsteps coming from the other end of the Chamber, cautious footsteps as of someone who shouldn't be here, someone who was frightened and wary to be down here. A timid foot turned the corner, a black Hogwarts robe, and a bright red head of hair. He recognised her as Ginny Weasley, but somehow that was separated from his dream-consciousness and in his dream he saw only a Gryffindor, probably a Weasley.

This wasn't the first time that Harry Potter had dreamed of Ginny Weasley since the school year began a few weeks ago. However, it was certainly the strangest, because as she timidly stepped into the Chamber, whispering what, he didn't know, his eyes snapped to her and trained her every move. Why would Ginny be in the Chamber? What was she doing? But stranger still were the emotions that swelled into his mind, thoughts of symbols, of carnage, and finally, of reticence. The time was not right, he must wait, but he could at least scare the foolish girl.

He moved towards her, slowly, staying close to the wall where the shadows that were once so copious still remained, he pulled out his wand and was going to say something when she turned and quickly ran around the corner, down a tunnel, and disappeared. He thought she was crying, and somehow, though that confused him more, he didn't feel too distracted on her behalf. Instead, he laughed. He recognised the sound of the laugh. It wasn't his chuckle, it was high-pitched and unnatural, the laugh that haunted his dreams and nightmares.

Harry Potter bolted upright and rubbed his dully aching scar. He shook his head to clear it. He took a deep breath. He wondered briefly why Ginny would go down into the Chamber of Secrets and then he reminded himself that it was, after all, only a dream, that his Occlumency lessons with Dumbledore had been going well and the Voldemort-dreams had been stopping recently, to be replaced with more mundane and average dreams, and that for all he knew it was some vaguely symbolic representation of his feelings toward Ginny at the time and her relation to Riddle. (Trelawney was teaching the advanced Divination students to interpret dreams and Ron had been complaining about the subject matter a few days ago.) Ginny was probably up in her room, fast asleep. It wouldn't do to worry about her. He rolled onto his side and rested his head back on his pillow. He closed his eyes. And he fell back into a now dreamless sleep.

Ginny Weasley, however, had yet to return to her dormitory in the Gryffindor tower, and was hurrying back from Myrtle's flooded bathroom, tears once again flowing from her cheeks. It had been two weeks since she had cried over Tom, but suddenly nothing made sense, and she realised that she couldn't go on in this in-between of forgiveness forever. Ron's words had reminded her of her own determination that he wasn't to be trusted, and although she countered that he was up to no evil deeds, she knew deep inside that she just couldn't be sure of that, ever. He was still Tom, no matter how much like Ophicus he seemed.

Amelia had brought back warm reports of Ophicus from every prefect's meeting, and she seemed to consider it her personal project to know as much about the new Slytherin as possible. Ginny had faint suspicions that her friend had ulterior motives for this, but the result was the same – that maligning Ophicus Serpens Marvolo in the fifth year Gryffindor girls' dormitory was effectively forbidden. Even Elisa had begun to warm up to the idea of the new Slytherin, although she remained staunchly of the opinion that she, personally, would never like him as he still belonged to that most horrible of houses. But Ginny hadn't been sure.

He had pursued her – nearly stalked her – since classes began, and she was beginning to enjoy their 'chance' meetings in the library. He had, after all, received more O.W.Ls than anyone except Hermione, and he was invaluable when the Potions textbook just seemed to swim in front of her eyes. It had only happened three times that he had helped her piece together Snape's assignment, but that was enough for Ginny when the school year had only barely begun and already she was feeling the weight of classes on her back.

But still, although he was kind and considerate (for the most part) and helped her with her Potions, he was Tom Riddle and that was damning evidence against him if Ginny Weasley had ever heard it. Because she couldn't forgive and forget, she couldn't forget what had happened her first year. It was written in her memory with indelible ink, and as much as she would rather have forgotten completely years ago, she couldn't deny that the remnants of her possession still lay, like the scars on a pipe smoker's lungs, hidden deep within her mind. And Tom threatened to bring them all to the surface with a single word, a single action.

She had to have some closure, had to find out for herself what had really happened. And that meant going to the Chamber of Secrets, one last time.

When she raced to the castle, she could tell her brother wasn't far behind, so she quickly turned a corner and hurried towards the library, taking a circuitous route through the school that assured her neither Ron nor Harry would run into her as she hurried to the first floor girls' bathroom. The closer she got to that home of her first year's terrors, the faster she ran. There was a sense of urgency, that unless she got down into the Chamber of Secrets quickly, she would never see it at all, and the same ghost of Tom Riddle would always haunt her.

She wasn't entirely sure that sneaking into the Chamber of Secrets would change anything, but she supposed it was at least worth a try. She reached the door to the bathroom at a breakneck speed, and skidded to a halt when she saw it was cordoned off from the rest of the hallway.

It was probably magically sealed, as well, to prevent students from interrupting Order meetings, should the Order ever actually been housed there – her letters from her mother didn't include any reference to moving the Order yet, so Ginny assumed that there had been some problem and the Order hadn't yet moved in. She pulled out her wand and prodded at the rope. It swung easily, lightly, silently. Sighing, she bent down to crawl under the barrier.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ginny Weasley knew that it was foolish to be going into so obvious of a forbidden place, but a tugging in her gut refused to allow her to think logically, and when she got inside the bathroom without a hitch and was staring down the hole that led to the Chamber, now equipped with stone steps, she felt that same knot in her stomach give a sharp jerk, and she almost fell down the first two steps before cautiously, nervously, continuing on her way down.

The cavernous space beneath the school opened before her in bright colours and glowing torches. A round table sat in the centre of the room adorned with snake frescoes and grand columns. The statue of Slytherin stood, monkey-like and brooding as she remembered it, on the far side of the Chamber. She breathed deeply of the dank air, warmed only slightly by the multitude of torches in their vain attempt to rid the cavern of shadow.

Those shadows, in the periphery of the room, frightened her, reminded her that although this room looked nothing like the dank, dark chamber she had feared her first year and ever since, it was still the same space, still haunted by the same ghosts and memories.

She gulped. Memories could do as much haunting as the most ferocious of ghosts.

She took one more timid step into the Chamber, shaking from the fear and weight of memory. And she heard two footfalls instead of one.

For the second time of her life, Ginny Weasley was sure she would not make it out of the Chamber of Secrets alive. She shivered with fear, looking around the room in search of whatever made the noise, and bit her lip. She had been a fool to think that seeing this room again would help her – it only made her terror more pronounced, only made things worse. "Tom?" she whispered, but no answer came. Nothing moved for a long moment, and a tear was sliding down her cheek when she sensed that something was going to happen soon and she turned and fled the Chamber, running all the way up the steps and out of the girls' bathroom.

But when she ducked to get under the ropes, she met a barrier, and was thrown back against the door in rebound. She touched the ropes with her wand. They didn't budge an inch. She was stuck, probably until Dumbledore saw fit to let her out, and the last thing she wanted was for the wise old professor to find out that she had gone against school rules and anyone's common sense to sneak back into the Chamber for a look around. She sank to the floor, hopelessly miserable.

Surely whatever was down there could come up this far and reach her. She wouldn't be safe until she was on the other side of the ropes, and that wasn't going to happen any time soon. She shivered in fear and huddled to the side, vaguely hoping that whatever it was would forget about her and leave her to her teachers' punishment. She couldn't think what it was. The floor towards the edges had been coated in a layer of dust and dirt, a film that even Dumbledore hadn't scrubbed away in his cleansing, and Ginny suddenly remembered that she had seen a figure in the corner, barely illuminated by the lights – a shape in the dust, of somebody's reclining form.

Someone asleep, for decades, perhaps. Enough time that the filth of the film would be cemented into their own body rather than the floor. She swallowed, hard. That was Tom's story – that he had been the thing to collect dust on the Chamber floor for so long. Ginny shook her head. Tom couldn't be telling the truth because were he telling the truth then he wasn't evil, and everyone who knew Tom Riddle knew he was evil. She heard a footstep and flinched before realising it didn't come from behind her, but rather from down the hallway.

The footsteps approached, and she realised it was whoever would punish her come to wreak vengeance for her rule breaking. She let out a dry sob, it was probably Filch come to find her. Merlin knew what kind of detention he would advocate – she had heard about the worst from her brothers although she rarely served a detention of her own. She looked down the corridor to meet her fate but the visage that presented itself was worse even than the Hogwarts caretaker. Much, much worse. Ginny shrank back in fear, hoping he wouldn't see her there.

"Ginny Weasley?" asked Tom, hurrying towards her with a very stern expression on his face. "What are you doing out this late? What are you doing _here _this late?" He stood on the other side of the barrier, looking down at her with intense suspicion. "You, of all people, should have no trouble abiding by Dumbledore's rule about this bathroom."

Slowly she climbed to her feet, wiping her tears. "I wanted to see what they'd done to it – I wanted to confront my fears. But now I'm stuck in here, I can't get past the rope."

Tom laughed lightly, and, pulling out his wand, whispered the words to some incantation. The ropes gently swung and Ginny, suddenly grateful, stepped over the nearest one and into the corridor. A soft pop went off a few seconds later and Ginny supposed that the barrier had come back. She said nothing, however. Somehow, the fact that Tom Riddle could get around an enchantment made by Dumbledore didn't surprise her very much. What surprised her even less was that he would, but that Dumbledore's protection would win out over time. But now that she was out of that precarious situation, she was confronted with another – Tom was staring at her with an expression even more stern than before. "What were you doing down here?"

Ginny blinked and wiped the tears from her cheeks before answering. Her knees shook, and she shivered from fright. Her days in the library had helped, but not much. Tom still looked like Tom, especially now in the cold night outside of the Chamber of Secrets. "I had some questions that hadn't been answered," she replied. She hoped her voice didn't waver too much.

"About?" he snapped.

"You." She was going to faint if his face didn't lighten, she was going to fall back into her worst nightmares...

Fortunately, Tom's face did soften, in shock, at her declaration. When he spoke, it was in a warm, confused whisper. "And?"

"Stay away from me, Tom," she said, voice as calm as she could muster, but she couldn't iron out all the wrinkles and trembles from the statement. His eyes darkened and his face stiffened, and he whirled away from her to stare at the wall down the corridor. He was furious.

"You know, I'll have to take points off for this," he announced, too loudly for the close quarters. Ginny worried that someone would hear.

"Yes," she said, softly. "Of course you will."

"And I'll have to tell Dumbledore where I saw you," his official manner and bearing were nothing like the concern she had seen flicker in his eyes only a few seconds before, but now that those eyes were averted from her own she found the strength to confront him, because more than anything she knew, she knew that Dumbledore must not find out about this.

"You won't," she began, quickly and tersely. "You won't because you had the same idea as me – you wanted to go down there too, that's why you're here."

Tom shook his head briskly and turned to face her, but chose a point a few inches above her head to concentrate on. "Of course not. The prefects patrol the halls after curfew, to make sure students like you don't go wandering about and get in trouble, as you almost did."

Ginny frowned for a moment and then smirked. "I would believe that," she began, "Were Amelia ever out of the dormitory for patrol duty. But she isn't. You're lying." Ginny even laughed at that. "No, Tom, prefects don't patrol the halls at night. The only person doing that is Filch."

And with that, a soft meowing came from the other end of the hallway. The smile vanished from Ginny's face and was replaced with a look of terror as she saw Mrs. Norris padding her way down towards them. Her eyes flashed to Tom. He looked as frightened as she did – confirming her statement that he was just as at fault as she. Looking towards the nearest door, she leapt over the barrier and pulled Tom back into the girls' bathroom.

"You can do that spell to get us out again, right?" she whispered when they were huddled near the door, listening for Filch.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately, yes."

Filch was outside whispering, and Ginny's heart almost stopped beating before he left the area, Mrs. Norris following closely behind. "Good," she said, ignoring Tom's remark, and turned towards the doorway, again pulling Tom out before Moaning Myrtle caught sight of him and made a stink. To think about it, Myrtle was mysteriously absent. Usually she was much noisier. Ginny, however, didn't question that, rather shutting the door softly behind them while Tom whispered the incantation again and stepped over the barrier. Ginny followed quickly before the dull pop registered that the barrier was once again in place.

"You can't tell Dumbledore anything," she asserted, looking him straight in the eye with as much confidence as she could muster, "you've been in there too."

Tom's face was closed, rigid in anger. He sighed angrily and looked ready for violence, but Ginny stood her ground. "Fine, but get back to your common room immediately, Ginny Weasley. Just because I can't punish you for it just yet doesn't mean it's allowed. And I _am _taking points for being outside of the common areas past curfew."

"You'll have to take it from Slytherin too," Ginny insisted. Perhaps this was going too far, but she was on a roll now and she wasn't looking in Tom's eyes, so she had to try. Something of Fred and George must have been passed down to her, because while she wouldn't have minded points being taken in the slightest, really, she found the thrill of bluffing and tricking her way into a pristine record to be more interesting than actually having one. And now that Tom wasn't looking at her, he was no different than the multitude of other prefects she had convinced into not taking points or assigning detentions in the past.

A moment of silence weighed heavily on Ginny. She could hardly breathe from the anticipation of the outcome of her bluff. Tom, however, made no reply, instead striding towards the Slytherin dungeons, a foul expression on his face.

Ginny hurried to the Gryffindor Tower, her heart racing and her breath coming too fast. For all her bravado in insisting that there be no punishment for sneaking out like that, she knew that she was incredibly lucky it was Tom and not another prefect who had found her. Another prefect wouldn't have known the spell to get her out, another prefect wouldn't be so caught up in fairness that he couldn't take points off of Gryffindor without taking them from Slytherin for the same reason, and so ambitious that five points would have that strong an effect on his decision. No, Tom was the only prefect who could have saved her from that, probably the only person. Which made her even more confused about the supposed resolution she had come to by creeping down into her past. She had resolved to cut all ties with the boy, to deny his existence totally. She couldn't stay in this half-and-half state forever, and Tom Riddle could do no good.

But he had saved her and he hadn't taken a single point off of Gryffindor for her transgression. That certainly qualified as 'good' in most people's books. Still, somehow, she couldn't cope with the fact that Tom Riddle wasn't evil. She was amazed at the confidence she had shown when talking to him, the very thought of the conversation as she walked towards her common room sent shivers up her spine and made her knees knock in fear. But somehow she managed to reach the common room on her own, and she sank into bed quietly so as not to disturb any of her classmates.

Tom, on the other hand, was ready to cause a scene. A disturbance was just what he needed to clear his mind, because Ginny Weasley obviously didn't trust him in the slightest – why else would she be sneaking around into the Chamber to get 'answers' about him when he was almost universally present and ready to answer any questions she had? Ginny Weasley didn't trust him. Not only that, but Ginny Weasley was proving a ruthless and effective adversary. She knew exactly what to do and how to do it to ensure that there were no consequences whatsoever for sneaking out like that, although she knew for a fact that it was against school rules. She knew how to play off his weaknesses, not by pleading their tenuous friendship, but by appealing to his ambition and the necessity for justice. She viewed him as an adversary, not a confidante.

And yet, she had saved him from being caught by Filch, had spoken to him like any normal person, and had even stood up to him and demanded that he remain true to the path he had chosen, things that only good friends would do. She was almost maddening – saying that they should stop speaking to each other when it was obvious she was grateful for his help in Potions and didn't give him the cold shoulder on any occasion, insisting on calling him Tom which in and of itself was a statement of her mistrust while still talking to him and treating him like a human being. Her brother and that bloody Harry Potter thought he was the devil incarnate – he could tell from the not very hidden looks they sent him as he sat next to their bushy haired friend in Defence class, and they were the only other people impolite enough to call him Tom.

Although with Ginny he would hardly call it impolite. Rather, it was simply true.

Because after all, he was Tom Marvolo Riddle, not Ophicus Serpens Marvolo, and that was the truth.

But all the same, Ginny Weasley maddened him. He approached the Slytherin dungeon with increasing frustration and nearly stormed his way into the dormitory, but he remembered himself just outside and was able to sneak in without waking Draco or any of his other loathed classmates. Frustrated with the world and every creature in it, Tom Riddle fell asleep with one thought on his mind: he was going to understand Ginny Weasley, if it was the last thing he did.


	13. Projects, Pet Projects, and Potions

**Disclaimer**: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note**: In which Tom confronts Ginny, Hermione confronts Tom, and Ginny just leaves instead of confronting Hermione. Lavendar and Parvati are gossips, and Ginny's friends save her sanity. Thanks to everyone who read the previous chapter, and especially those who reviewed, Fantome, Pixie, and EriEka. To those of you who noticed the 'Two prefects' mistake - more and more people keep telling me about it, so I guess it's rather unclear. Thanks for all who did, I shall dutifully go back and change it to 'Two male prefects' which I mistakenly thought was assumed.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 13: Projects, Pet Projects, and Potions **

Honestly, Tom thought as he quickly scribbled down notes for his Defence Against the Dark Arts project, with all the extra work he had from ten N.E.W.T.-level classes and prefect duties, the last thing he needed was a pet project in Ginny Weasley. But so long as the thought of her bright red hair surrounding her furious face scratched its way into his thoughts, there was no hope – he had a project in Ginny Weasley. He was going to figure out what was going on in that brain of hers, even though he had no idea of how to do it.

He looked down at his paper just in time to see his hand scribbling down the symbol for thought rather than movement, and he shook his head as he read off the meaning of the last few runes together: _preservation of a calm mind_. That was what he needed. He let out a short laugh and changed it: _protection from intruders and attacks_.

"I don't think you have to worry about coming up with ideas for Halloween decorations, Pansy," came Draco Malfoy's aggravating drawl. "I'm sure that's what wonder boy Marvolo is doing right now, isn't it?"

Tom looked up to see a glaring Malfoy staring at him meaningfully, to make it perfectly clear that it hardly mattered if he was doing his homework or not, neither Malfoy nor his girlfriend Parkinson were going to do any work. "Of course," Tom replied, not taking his eyes off of Malfoy. "I've never thought that you would do any work yourself, Malfoy. Laziness comes with feeling entitled for no reason." He smiled a bit at Malfoy's slowly appearing rage, and cleaned up the table in front of him quickly. He didn't want to be in the common room when Malfoy exploded.

Quickly ducking through the wall that guarded the entrance to the Slytherin dungeon, Tom hurried down the hallway before Malfoy could stick his head out and yell, "Get back here, Marvolo! You'll pay for that one!"

Tom ran nearly all the way to the library, and arrived out of breath but laughing to himself. No matter how much he hated the way he somehow was assigned with all the prefect duties, it was worth it to know that Malfoy wouldn't dare hurt him because it meant doing more work, and that Malfoy couldn't lay a finger on him because the other boy was so dense.

Well, considered Tom judiciously, not exactly dense, just lazy. He could have been as successful as Tom, had he actually applied himself to any of his schoolwork. But young Malfoy was too interested in the appearance of being too good for the work to actually get the best grades in his year. Tom let out another chuckle and glanced at the clock. He had arranged to meet Hermione Granger an hour before dinner to work on their joint Defence project.

As it turned out, Tom was entirely pleased to discover that Hermione Granger had beaten Draco Malfoy out in every class for the title of best student. They shared all of their classes together and had a friendly competition going on – to see who could gain the most points for their house by correct answers during class. As of that day, Hermione was ahead by three points, but Tom always caught up in Potions, probably because Snape loved giving points to Slytherin and detested Granger.

But at the moment, it was an hour and a half before the Great Hall would open for dinner, and although all the tables were full of students studying, none of them were inhabited by Hermione Granger. Tom scanned for a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw he could sit by without eliciting arguments, but neither Blaise nor any of the other Slytherins he found acceptable were anywhere to be seen, and the Ravenclaws appeared to have mastered the art of studying in groups just large enough to fill a table. In fact, the only options were to sit at a table alone for the next thirty minutes or associate himself rather adamantly with Ginny Weasley, who was squinting at her textbook, at a table alone.

Tom strode to Ginny's table and slid into the chair across from her, glancing briefly at the book. "Still having trouble with Potions, I see," he commented.

Ginny looked up and glared. "Tom, I thought I told you to leave me alone."

He decided not to let that comment bother him. He knew she had told him to leave her alone, but he certainly wasn't going to accept that decision. Instead of getting angry, he raised one eyebrow. "Where's the harm in helping you with Potions?"

She stuck her notes in between the pages of the Potions textbook and closed it, giving Tom her full attention. "It's not so much the Potions help as the fact that every time you're so much as in the same room as I am I remember my first year. Tom, it's almost like there's a Dementor nearby, but it's only you. That's not a good thing. Then there's the fact that each and every time my brother hears about you and I so much as exchanging two words, he flips out to me, or worse, plans to get you arrested and sent to Azkaban with Harry. And besides, it can't help your reputation in Slytherin to be seen spending so much time with one of Harry Potter's most famous fans."

Tom shook his head. "My problems in Slytherin have nothing to do with my helping you with your Potions homework. But it looks like you have some trust issues."

Ginny's face, which had been honest and emotion laden a second before, snapped closed instantly. "Is that it? Or are there more diagnoses, Doctor Riddle?" Tom sighed. He knew he had made a huge blunder with that statement, but he had no idea of how to mend it. Ginny continued. "And where, pray tell, do you think my _trust issues _arose? Could it be, perhaps, from the time my _best friend _almost _killed me _when I was eleven years old?"

"I didn't know what was going on any more than you did, Ginny," Tom said, quickly and hurriedly. "If you think for one moment that what happened was intentional..." he trailed off, because of course she thought it was intentional. What other option did there appear to be when Tom Riddle, who you've been writing to for so long, pops out of the Diary and tries to murder you? "I know it was my fault," he finally said. "I was older, I should have realized what was going on; I should have done something to stop it. But I couldn't, any more than you could."

Ginny just looked at him, angry tears forming in her eyes. "Do you think that that's acceptable, that I can just forget the most horrible part of my life?"

Tom shook his head adamantly. "No, of course not. Of course you can't forget. I don't expect you to. But I would hope that you could still allow me to help you with your Potions work, if only that."

Ginny was silent for a moment and wiped her eyes embarrassedly. When, finally, she looked back up at Tom, a mischievous glint was in her eye. "Is that an offer to tutor me?" she asked.

Tom laughed out loud. "I guess so," he responded. It would at least be something he could say that Snape had tricked him into, and it would get him out of the Slytherin dungeons. Not to mention allowing a place and time for him to try to understand Ginny Weasley.

"Tuesdays? After dinner?" she asked. He nodded, shrugging. It was as good a time as any. "All right then. But before you go," she opened her book and pointed to a diagram on the page she had been studying, "what on earth are the four stages of the newt eye development, and why do I have to know the difference between live, fresh, dried, and boiled when they all have basically the same characteristics?"

Tom smiled and started to explain.

Twenty minutes later, Ginny was actually laughing about the mistakes she could have made before, to Tom's vast chagrin. "Imagine putting a protodeveloped eye in a potion for alertness, it might dissolve the drinker's eyelids entirely," she laughed as she shook her head. "Thanks so much, Tom," she added, stacking her notes in a neat pile and closing the text book.

"What's this about Tom, Ginny," came a voice from nearby. "His name's Ophicus." Hermione nodded to Tom coolly and passed Ginny a meaningful stare. Behind her, Parvati and Lavender were giggling madly. Turning quickly, Hermione said something tersely but softly to the two of them and they departed in a hurry, snatching glimpses of Tom on their way out of the library. "I'm sure you don't know any Toms," Hermione added, turning back to Ginny.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at her older friend and answered, "I'm sure I do, Hermione, and calling him by a false name – any false name – is ridiculous. You might as well call him Vol..." she trailed off, still unable to say the name. "You-know-who."

"I'm not Voldemort," hissed Tom quickly, but neither of them heard him.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ginny," replied Hermione with an air of challenging. "This young man has nothing to do with the Tom Riddle that you thought you knew in your first year. Ophicus Marvolo is not a teenaged Dark Lord."

Ginny glanced from Tom to Hermione and picked up her Potions textbook. "I didn't know you had such a degree of experience with Tom, Hermione. Was there another Diary?" When Hermione blushed, she stood angrily. "Ophicus Marvolo isn't a Dark Lord, and neither is Tom Marvolo Riddle," she hissed as she took a step away, "but either of them could probably beat you in a Potions exam."

As she walked away, Hermione shook her head. "You'll have to forgive her, Ophicus," she began, but seeing Tom's face she quickly shut her mouth.

"Forgive her? I'd be surprised if she ever forgave you. Honestly, Miss Granger, you may have intelligence, but you need to learn some tact." He slid his Defence textbook to the side and flipped it open, pulling out his notes. "But I suppose that study skills and social skills rarely intersect."

Hermione looked put out but she said nothing, instead extracting her own notes from her bag. "I can't believe that Professor Quinn actually wants us to do this," she whispered excitedly. "It's incredible. But it means a lot of work, of course. Ron has volunteered to take on some of the prefect duties, I'm sure Malfoy and Parkinson – excuse me, Draco and Pansy – wouldn't mind taking some of yours so you can work on this. I think I can be free Tuesdays after dinner, there's no Quidditch practice so Ron won't be busy and it's Harry's Occlumency lessons so I won't need to keep them in line."

Tom's face didn't reveal any emotion as he said, "I'm busy then."

Hermione nodded very slowly and flattened her notes on the table. "All right, Thursdays then?"

Tom nodded. "Fine. I'll try to get out of prefect duties, but I wouldn't count on Malfoy or the Pug-face to take on any work."

Hermione smiled slightly, almost invisibly, as she turned back to her notes. "Anyway, I think we'd be better off looking at wards of all movement rather than simple Apparition wards – they're more complicated but I'm sure we can handle it. Perhaps also one-directional wards or selective wards, but I haven't found as many resources on those."

Tom's face cracked in a real smile, then. "Hermione," he smirked, "Professor Quinn expects us, at least, to go a bit beyond the books. Look at this." He pushed forward a page at the very back of the Ancient Runes text, in the chapter on practical applications, revealing triangular, square, pentagram, and circular diagrams. "Like I said, it's just Ancient Runes."

Hermione gasped. "You mean..."

"You couldn't read what was written on the founders' ward? It was a simple apparition ward, with strengthening charms in these positions," here he motioned to four choice positions on the round diagram. "But by using a pentagram instead, and altering the placement of the strengthening charms, we can add selectivity and use the founders' own spell for it." He smirked at the amazed look in Hermione's eyes. "And here I thought you had already read your textbooks."

"Of course I have," she quickly said, "but I suppose I was rather tired when I read to that page, I must have forgotten about it. Thank heavens I'm working with you and not Harry or Ron."

Tom chuckled slightly, a natural, deep laugh entirely unlike that attributed to Voldemort. "Don't let anyone hear you say that," he added, looking around suspiciously.

"On that note, Ophicus, they've told me you've been following Ginny around. I'd warn you to stop doing that." She was suddenly stern and not unlike Professor McGonagall.

"And what possible reason do I have to follow your rather sanctimonious direction?" he asked.

"I'll stop them from pummelling you to the ground the next time they see you."

"They wouldn't be able to if they had the chance, Miss Granger."

She shook her head sadly. "Look, I don't know why you want to get to Ginny like this, because the only reason I can think of is you want to get back into the killing Harry business and she's the easiest pawn you can think of, as you've used her before. But she's different now, she's older, and she's closer to us than she was in her first year. You'll be the one who ends up the loser, Ophicus."

Tom grimaced. "Isn't it possible for me to want to help someone with their Potions work without being labelled a Dark Lord hopeful?" He shook his head angrily. "I suppose next they'll think I'm trying to kill you for being Muggle-born because we spend so much time together to work on this project."

Now it was Hermione's turn to sigh in exasperation. "If they think that it's their own problem for being so thick," she replied adamantly.

"Then why isn't it the same with Ginny?"

Hermione paused for a moment and then nodded slowly. "It's really just Potions, then, isn't it?"

Tom only shrugged. Quickly, she packed up her notes and with quick goodbye she was gone. Tom was, for the first time in what felt like much too long, alone. Soon dinner would begin, but he found that for once he wasn't hungry in the slightest. He settled down to do the rest of his homework, and perhaps brainstorm ideas for Halloween decorations. Halloween was coming up, and with it the first Hogsmeade weekend.

Tom, of course, would not be going on this or any Hogsmeade visit. Snape had refused point-blank to sign any forms, and Dumbledore had appeared bemused but given no signature. So Tom was to be left alone for the Hogsmeade weekend, as well. It hardly mattered, it wasn't as though he had much business in Hogsmeade anyway. No one disturbed him for the rest of the evening, before Madame Pince sternly sent him back to his dormitory when the library was closing. He was left to slowly make his way back to the dungeon, mind full of Ginny Weasley and not much else.

Ginny, on the other hand, was anything but alone at that moment. Lavender and Parvati were just leaving her group of friends, having stopped to inquire exactly what she was doing with Ophicus and why she was calling him Tom. Ginny mentally winced; she would have to be more careful in the future. Jeannette was talking to her over the roar of other students eating dinner. "That's the second time you've called him Tom, Ginny. Who is he?"

Ginny shook her head quickly, returning to the present. "He's Ophicus Serpens Marvolo, of course. Who were you expecting, You-know-who?"

Jeannette shuddered at the mention. "No, of course not, but..."

Amelia spoke up. "He takes a strange interest in you, of course, and you've been calling him Tom just like your Diary in first year. It's only natural we think something's up."

"Ophicus is such a mouthful, why wouldn't I call him Tom? What would you suggest for a nickname?"

Gwen sighed in anger when Elisa suggested 'Kevin.' "That's not the point, Elisa," she muttered. "But Ginny, you still haven't said a thing about how you know Marvolo, whether he would rather be called Tom or Ophicus or Ophie or whatever."

Ginny paused. "There's nothing to say about it," she said quietly.

"Look, Ginny," Jeannette prodded. "You can tell us anything. We're here to support you. And it could be something entirely mundane, like being third cousins or something. But that's no reason not to tell us anything."

Amelia spoke up. "Right. Because then we get to thinking, what could it be? Did Ginny save him from drowning as a child, starting a deep friendship?"

Gwen smiled. "Have you two been writing each other all summer courtesy of a lonely hearts club?" Fortunately, Elisa said nothing to stop the copious laughter.

Hours later, when Ginny had finally finished her homework and was heading up to bed, Gwen called up to her, "Make sure to say hello to Ophicus from us in your next letter!"

Ginny laughed. She laughed until she got up to her room and grinned widely until she had fallen asleep. Tom didn't seem so bad with friends to make fun of him.


	14. Query, Worry, and Information

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** The last chapter before Halloween, and therefore the last chapter before bigger things start happening. Hooray for that. I've just moved into college for the year so I've had about -2 hours each day to do stuff like this, but the whole orientation/registration/etcetera stuff should be over soon and once I get into the hang of actual classes you can expect more updates. Or maybe I'll find the elusive thing called a social life and these chapters will become even fewer and farther between. (Now is your cue to be glad that my dorm is famed for its antisocial qualities.) In any case, huge thanks go to all my reviewers, Slytherinbabe, Winternightfall, and Anais Lacquestar (I'm glad you liked my characters and I'm sorry you've fallen out of fandom. I've fallen out of the Peter Pan fandom for similar reasons)

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 14: Query, Worry, and Information**

When Ginny awoke the next morning, she could see the sun through the curtains, high in the sky. She rubbed her eyes and let out a curse, realising that she'd overslept as usual, and grabbing her school robes from her trunk as she raced to the bathroom for a quick shower. She might have time to grab something to eat on her way to Defence, but she wasn't sure. A glance to the clock on the wall told her that most certainly she couldn't, so she didn't even bother going towards the Great Hall but instead raced straight to Professor Quinn's class. She arrived a few minutes early in her haste, before any of the other students, and froze in the doorway when she saw Tom and Hermione talking calmly with Professor Quinn.

She might have cleared her throat a bit louder than necessary as she made her way across the room to her customary seat, but none of them made any signs of noticing as they talked amongst themselves. "I honestly think that with the right precautions we'll be fine. Certainly we won't make any of the gross mistakes you've been talking about," Hermione said.

Tom nodded in agreement, but Professor Quinn seemed reticent. "What you need to understand," she cautioned, "is that an error like the ones I've mentioned or even something not as severe could cause the ward to implode on itself – possibly disabling nearby wards. And to disable the Apparition wards around Hogwarts could prove disastrous. I don't want to allow You-Know-Who entrance into this school for the sake of a pet project of two of my best students. There are a million other wards you could choose that aren't as difficult as this one. I suggest you choose another, Miss Granger, Mr. Marvolo. Thank you for coming to me rather than trying something that could have disastrous consequences." Professor Quinn nodded to Tom and Hermione and bid them get to their first class, and they turned to leave, not even glancing at Ginny as they approached the door.

As they left, Professor Quinn turned to Ginny and smiled. "Some of my N.E.W.T. students coming in for advice on a project," she explained, her smile widening slightly. "They have to design a ward to keep me out of the classroom for an entire class period. However long they can keep me out of the room, they can do whatever they please, but as soon as I get in, class begins in earnest."

Ginny blinked, surprised. It seemed a bit risky to allow that much class time to be wasted. She said as much, but Professor Quinn just laughed and grinned even broader than before.

"Runes are very complicated magic, Ginny. I doubt any of their runes would have worked, even if I hadn't taken precautions and charmed the classroom beforehand. No, withstanding very complicated and powerful magic, no ward will possibly last more than five minutes, and most won't ever take effect in this classroom."

Ginny frowned a bit. "Doesn't that mean that anyone could Apparate into the classroom, from outside?"

The Professor shook her head. "No, the wards the founders created to protect Hogwarts are more complicated and powerful than I could possibly conceive to take down, and I certainly wouldn't want to. But withstanding certain students," and here she glanced meaningfully towards the hallway where Tom and Hermione had left, "no one would dream of doing something as complicated as the founders."

Ginny laughed. If anyone was ambitious in their magic, it would be Tom and Hermione.

Gwen hurried into the room then, followed shortly by Elisa and Jeannette. "Ginny," Jeannette gasped, "Tom was walking down the hallway in a fury, Hermione trying to calm him down, he was coming from here, are you all right?" she gasped, visibly worried.

Elisa spoke up. "Amelia was trying to find out from them what had gone on, but he kept muttering about Professor Quinn so we suddenly thought that you might have been in here,"

Gwen, however, had seen the Professor in question, and silenced both of her friends by abruptly saying hello to Professor Quinn and taking a seat next to Ginny.

"Miss Arlia, who are you talking about? The only students in my classroom recently were Mr. Marvolo and Miss Granger."

Jeannette blushed incredibly as she slowly walked to her seat on the other side of Ginny. "It's just a nickname Ginny has for Ophicus… she says that his real name is too long. They're great friends, I think."

Professor Quinn raised one eyebrow but said nothing, turning instead to the notes on her desk. Soon Amelia had entered the classroom and hurried towards her friends, and the five girls began to whisper intently, Ginny explaining that no, nothing had happened between Ophicus and herself, and that it was simply on behalf of a project that he was so upset. But something that Professor Quinn had told them bothered her.

A malfunctioning ward could break down Hogwarts' defences for a short while. And Hermione would want to do the most impressive ward she could think of, especially with Tom to egg her on. Something like that could allow Death Eaters into the school, which would be exactly what Tom would want, wouldn't it?

Ginny gulped. She had to tell someone about this, had to get advice from a third party, but Hermione was too enmeshed in it to see straight about the ward, and Harry and Ron would immediately condemn Tom regardless of cause, and that left no one who knew the truth. She looked towards her Gryffindor friends, but she had a feeling that especially of late, Amelia was not one to be receptive to knowing that her favourite sixth year boy was really Lord Voldemort.

She wished Luna or Neville was nearby, but she had fallen apart from those friends who were once so close to her in the D.A. after the train ride. They had gotten too close to knowing, they were too knowledgeable. She had been afraid that they would find out the truth and jump to the same conclusion Harry did.

That had been stupid, she decided. Really, if anyone would take Ginny at her word and believe the craziest story imaginable, it would be Luna, even if that story involved Tom Riddle simultaneously being, and not being, Lord Voldemort. Luna would love it, and Neville would be forced to accept it. Ginny sighed, accepting the fact that for the present, there was no one she could tell about her sudden suspicions of Tom.

Fortunately, the first Hogsmeade weekend was coming up, and Ginny would probably be able to find her two friends then. Students slowly filled the classroom, and Ginny turned her attention to Professor Quinn as she began her lecture.

They were reviewing the traits of Vampires, and how to identify one, how to fight one should you need to, but mostly how to get away from one if they appeared to be angry. Ginny smiled. If she had to be distracted in Defence class, this would be the time to do so – just before their unit on identifying Werewolves.

Ginny looked forward to seeing her friends realize that Lupin, their old Defence Professor, had been a Werewolf, but wondered if without his presence they would make the connection. Of course she knew, she had figured it out when she incessantly asked her mother why he had such a strange tendency to disappear once a month. Her mother had sharply reprimanded her that she shouldn't ask such questions, or she would find out more than she wanted to know. Of course, Ginny had then thoroughly researched every possible explanation, and her conclusion was correct – her former teacher had to be a werewolf. It hadn't changed her estimation of him in the slightest, instead she had admired him more for bearing the scorn, fear, and hate of the Wizarding world without turning bitter and angry. That fear and scorn was exactly what she was afraid of should people find out about her first year's possession, and she couldn't bear the thought of it. Better the last random victim than the cause of all that terror.

She wondered if Tom felt the same way. No, he probably enjoyed the idea of people fearing him. That was what Voldemort was all about – fear. Ginny inwardly sighed.

Defence seemed to drag on, Professor Quinn quizzing the class and answers coming back with startling rapidity from Amelia, Elisa, Colin, Gwen, even Jeannette gave a few answers. Ginny alone had been silent up to this point, so she decided to tune in so as not to be seen as falling behind. Professor Quinn had just asked how to avoid an angry Vampire, to which Amelia had responded "Get into the sunlight as soon as possible, it burns their pale skin. And carry around garlic, the smell scares them away."

"Anything else?" asked Professor Quinn.

Ginny raised her hand. "I suppose you could buy him a few blood pops for reconciliation," she said with a bit of a laugh.

Professor Quinn laughed with her and nodded. "Albeit unconventional, but very true, Miss Weasley. I fear I have been a bit biased in my treatment of Vampires. Like Werewolves, which we will be discussing next, Vampires are very humanlike creatures and most of the time can be simply handled with caution and common sense. While they are not Wizards, they patronize shops and pubs just like the rest of us, especially in Romania and Transylvania, where their presence is most marked. There are now treatments to deal with their bloodlust and allow them to inhabit mostly normal society, although nothing as of yet can allow a vampire into sunlight. When dealing with the highest of Dark Beasts, you must remember that it's not a Grindylow or a Hinkypunk that you're facing. Centaurs, Hags, Vampires, Werewolves, Veela, and many other creatures are really very human in nature and should be handled with respect rather than fear. Nothing will anger a Vampire more than terror. Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Weasley, for your open-mindedness and clear thought."

Ginny smiled, a tad embarrassed, and from that moment on class sped by.

They exited the class and headed down to the Potions dungeon, Jeannette letting out a groan of disappointment. "Ugh. Speaking of Vampires…"

Amelia just sighed. "Jeannette, how many times have I told you that Snape is most certainly not a Vampire? It would be impossible for a Vampire to handle Wizarding magic well enough to even pass the O.W.Ls much less get any N.E.W.Ts or become a Hogwarts Professor. Snape is a slimy git, but not a Vampire. Besides, Vampires are pale and gaunt, not slimy and greasy with big noses."

"Maybe he's a deformed Vampire," Gwen suggested. "He certainly has the personality problems."

Ginny laughed a bit but Amelia shook her head in frustration and continued down to the dungeon. "With modern cosmetics, anyone can look like anything – you don't have to actually be a greasy old Potions Professor to look like one," Jeannette insisted. "It's a clever disguise."

But they were in the Potions room now and discussion about Snape's Vampirism had to stop. "I hope you have all studied the sections on the phases of newt eyes thoroughly, because let me warn you that that will be incredibly important for today's lesson," sneered Snape, smirking. All the Gryffindors knew that their potions would be insufficient for Snape regardless of how hard they had studied, and Ginny gulped, hoping that her studying with Tom didn't fail her here.

"Today you will be making altertness Potions," the Professor began, and Ginny let a sigh of relief. She could do that. "All the ingredients are available on my desk, as well as every variety of newt eye you could use, as well as several frog eyes and a few types of salamander eye. Your Potions will be collected at the end of class. You may begin."

Ginny raced to the front of the classroom and began collecting ingredients, throwing them into her cauldron as quickly as she could. A good alterness potion needed to be brewed for most of the class, she wasn't sure if she had enough time as it was. Dumping the materials on her desk she filled her cauldron with water and set it to boil as she chopped and diced several ingredients, adding them to the pot.

As it simmered down to the right consistency, Ginny enchanted a ladle to stir it and sat back in her chair, smiling. The potion was perfect, and she knew it. Nothing could make Snape take any points off. Jeannette, beside her, was struggling with her own potion, only now adding the crushed tea. Ginny winced; the potion wouldn't brew nearly long enough and would have vastly reduced effect.

She grabbed up the ladle and stirred a few times, noting the consistency was exemplary. She lowered the heat on her cauldron and covered it, to retain all the moisture, and began to clean her desk. It wasn't two minutes until class was over, and Snape hastily pulled open her cauldron to find a picture perfect alertness potion. He bottled it and only glared at Ginny. Down the row to Jeannette, however, he had more to say. "This potion is watery, Arlia. Not a good sign," he sneered.

Ginny felt badly for her friend, Potions was her hardest subject and she was constantly finding fault with Snape for that. It was understandable, Ginny decided. "Too bad about that one, it would have been fine with a few more minutes of boiling," she consoled her friend.

Jeannette shrugged. "Hey, I know I won't do well in that class until the Vampire stops breathing down my back and finding fault. But you, on the other hand, that was amazing."

"What?" Ginny asked. "I didn't do anything shocking, just made a decent potion."

Elisa shook her head. "You should have seen the way he was glaring at you when you raced up there to grab your ingredients; he could tell you knew his trick, that the potion would take such a long time to brew. He was hoping no Gryffindor would figure it out, I bet."

Amelia smiled slightly. "He was almost right – Ginny here's the only one who moved fast enough. I guess the rest of us were just afraid of going so close to his desk," she laughed. Ginny grinned.

"You've never been the star in Potions before, though, Ginny," Gwen commented as they walked towards the Great Hall for lunch. "What brought this on?"

"Studying," Ginny began, slowly. She wasn't sure if she wanted to credit Tom with his help, it might make her friends even more suspicious of the boy.

But Jeannette was quicker than that. "You've told me yourself that the Potions book swims before your eyes when you try to study. Who's tutoring you?"

Amelia smiled conspiratorially. It took a single glance at her face to know that she had figured it out. "So _that's_ what he was doing talking to you in the library."

Ginny glared at Amelia. "Yes," she said, "Ophicus has agreed to tutor me in Potions."

Gwen raised one eyebrow. "How'd that come about? He's not exactly the sociable type."

Ginny shrugged. "He almost begged to be allowed to help me in Potions, so I decided that it couldn't hurt," she said with a small smile.

"He's the best in Potions in his year," Amelia whispered, amazed. "All the prefects our year want him to tutor them, but he always says that he doesn't stoop to assisting desperate fools."

Jeannette laughed at that. "Well I guess the difference is that Ginny wasn't desperate."

"In any case, you should thank him," Amelia decided. "It's a huge favour he's doing you."

Ginny just shook her head. "What, during lunch?"

"Why not?"

"Because he's surrounded by Slytherins during lunch, and Malfoy will never let him get away with it if a Gryffindor like me comes anywhere near him. It's best to stay away from him so he can say that Snape forced him into it or something, complain about me. That's probably why he's doing it," she assured her friends, "He just wants something to complain of to the other Slytherins. Or maybe to get information on Harry and so forth. No, thanking him now would be stupid," she decided.

Besides all that, she knew that talking to Tom now that she was sure he was up to something decidedly not good was, well, idiotic. She wondered if she could cancel their next tutoring session with a sigh. "Besides, it was basically a one-shot deal," she said to her friends. "I don't expect he'll help me in the future."

"What day and time?" Jeannette asked firmly.

With a sigh, Ginny admitted, "Tuesdays after dinner."

"Ginny, you're a wonderful liar, but not when you're distracted," her friend assured her as they stepped into the Great Hall. With that, everyone sat down to lunch and spread the word that Ginny Weasley had impressed Snape with a Potion, telling everyone in Gryffindor.

Ginny resolved to thank Tom at their next meeting, and to tell him that she was on to him. Perhaps this could be remedied. Perhaps it wasn't too late.

Maybe she should talk to Hermione, she thought. But with everything going on, she knew that talking to Hermione was the last thing she wanted to do. Hermione would say she was being paranoid, that she should trust Dumbledore and just forget about her first year. And that was the one thing Ginny Weasley couldn't do, forget about her first year. So she couldn't talk to Hermione.

Talking to Tom, however, was another matter. Tom was her own personal demon and she would deal with him on her own, in person.


	15. Ginevra Molly Weasley

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** Ah, finally the fun starts. My speed-beta-reader Katy did an amazing job with this one, which is why it's out so fast. She said she loved a certain bit at the end so I hope you all like it too. And if the end of this chapter does seem a bit… H/G… well, I know it is and I know what I'm doing and it's all there for a reason and that reason is that this is not a normal T/G fic. There's lots of things that have to be overcome before you get to smut (if you ever get to smut) and one of those things is Ginny's inherent distrust of Tom and everyone's reaction of 'When something bad happens, go to Harry'. In any case, huge great thanks go to Fantome (don't worry about missing a chapter here and there; I'm so pumped that you're even continuing to read this that I don't mind at all) and Lady Lestrange (I certainly don't intend to abandon it, but we'll see what college has to say about that. I'm kinda busy but I'll look over at your fics the next time I get a chance) for reviewing so quickly that I couldn't get another chapter out before they caught the last one.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 15: Ginevra Molly Weasley**

Ginny, Neville, and Luna talked about everything going on at the school while nursing their Butterbeers. Neville had finally gotten out of the Potions class and was surprising himself with how well he could do when not fettered by his fear of Snape. He was almost certain he could pass enough N.E.W.T.s to become a research herbologist at the Ministry, and Luna was working on him to use his future power to check the basements for Fudge's secret army. Ginny almost smiled. A job studying new uses of various plants would most certainly put Neville in a position to be useful for the Order, which was all he could ever want. She hoped that she could be so lucky, but chances were her family would ban her from doing anything more interesting than building a home as crowded and cluttered and forcefully cheerful as her mother's.

Luna, on the other hand, seemed fit to follow her father's footsteps proudly and happily, and become the country's leading expert on wacky conspiracy theories. She was currently chattering to Neville about one of the more surprising rumours – that there was a giant in the Forbidden forest.

"Wouldn't someone have found out about it? Couldn't we see it over the trees from the tower or something?" Neville asked, unsure of exactly how tall Giants were and whether or not an average sized Giant would be covered by trees in the forest.

"The trees are tall enough," Luna assured him, "Some of them are fifty feet high." Luna was adamant, and whether or not she had actually gone into the forest and measured the trees, she would stick to her statement on their height. Ginny didn't really want to ask – it seemed all too likely that Luna would have gone into the forest to measure trees to confirm her Giant story. "And besides," she said, "he sits down mostly."

Ginny raised one eyebrow and just shook her head, smiling. Soon they were done with their Butterbeers and the sun was fast setting behind the hills. They left the Three Broomsticks and started to walk back towards Hogwarts together, idly chatting. Luna wasn't having an easier time now that she had taken part in saving the world, but perhaps that was to be expected. Her Ravenclaw housemates continued to steal her things and make her life difficult, and although she presented their abuses with frank sincerity, she seemed toughened against them to the point that they washed over her like so many raindrops. Ginny smiled. This calmness, assertion and acceptance were exactly what she needed. Luna hadn't questioned Tom's origins or Ginny's assertion that she could handle him. She had merely accepted that Tom was as innocent as Ginny and acted on that – saying that Tom wasn't up to a thing. Perhaps Luna was showing wisdom beyond her years, perhaps she knew things that surpassed proof, but Ginny didn't much care. It was just nice to have a friend who knew about Tom and wasn't angry with her for spending time with him.

"Hey! Guys! Wait up!" came a familiar voice behind them, Harry's, as he ran forward to meet them. He must have run the whole way from Zonko's, where they had seen him conferring quietly with Ron and Hermione, and was completely out of breath. His hair looked even messier than usual and his robes were in a state of disarray. He smiled at Ginny as he bent forward to keep from fainting. "Sorry," he gasped, "just didn't want to walk to the castle alone - you don't mind, do you?" His head was between his knees at that point and Ginny glanced meaningfully to both Neville and Luna, trying to convey her suspicions. Luna remained silent, but Neville missed the glance and assured Harry that all three of them were pleased for his company. Ginny sighed as Harry stood up, beaming and running a hand through his untameable hair before they started off again towards the castle. She wasn't sure whether to be happy or angry that he fell into step beside her. She remembered a day when it would have been so much simpler, but any more Harry was just a reminder of all the insufferable idiots in the world that insisted on treating her like a porcelain doll.

"Ron and Hermione just started bickering about something or other, I can't tell what – never can – and I figured I'd have to run to catch up with you all." He smiled, and everyone smiled back, unsure of exactly how to take this surprise visit.

"They've stolen Luna's things again," Ginny said, after an awkward silence had taken up far too much of the walk to the school.

"Really? We should do something about it," Harry said vaguely, fulfilling his role as the hero with less than stunning excitement and determination.

Luna shrugged, somehow managing to show even more indifference than Harry himself. "It's really not that big a deal – they always give it back."

Another awkward silence descended. Ginny, at length, tried again. "It seems so strange to not have DA meetings anymore," she commented. "I'd hate to think that you would try to do something without our help after last year."

Neville nodded and Luna agreed, adding a comment about how isolated she felt in Ravenclaw. Harry sighed. "We have a decent Defence teacher," he said, "Why do you need the DA?"

Luna spoke up again. "The DA was more than a study session, Harry. It ended up a real army – the people that you could count on to follow you into the fray and back you up. Don't deny that we didn't help, at least a little."

And honestly, Harry couldn't deny that they hadn't helped last year in the Department of Ministries. But he was still loath to say that he missed the DA.

Neville spoke up. "Harry, you were a good teacher, and more than that, you were a good leader. For once in my life I felt like I was learning something, like I could help in the fight…" He trailed off for a moment. "I want to avenge my parents just as much as you do, Harry," he whispered, and then promptly blushed, embarrassed that words like that had ever come out of his mouth. Little did he know how apropos they were to Harry, whose mind immediately caught on a hint of Trelawney's prophecy. But he said nothing.

Ginny sighed and shrugged, trying to convey to Luna and Neville that she had done her best to bring their wish up (or really to bring anything up) as another awkward silence descended. Harry was, for now, the biggest downer she could imagine. When Harry spoke up, however, the conversation promptly took a turn for the worse and Ginny found herself wishing for silence. "Ginny, why are you having private tutoring sessions with…" he trailed off, looking at Neville and Luna and wondering whether to call him Ophicus, as the school did, Tom, as Ginny did, or Lord Voldemort, as he was wont to call his enemy.

"You-Know-Who?" Luna supplied, smiling slightly and suppressing a laugh. Harry looked awkwardly between the two of them, wondering if Luna really knew who Ophicus was, or if she was just supplying an anonymous moniker for Ginny's anonymous tutor.

"Or perhaps Tom?" Neville grinned. Ginny laughed. Harry frowned.

"How do you know about him?" he snapped. Harry, now that he had the information to dole out, was of the opinion that the more people he could keep listening to him because he had more information, the better. The fact that Luna and Neville knew exactly what was going on while not being terrified of Ophicus Marvolo simultaneously shocked and angered Harry.

"It was pointless to try to keep us in the dark forever, Harry," Luna said calmly. "I thought better of you, especially after we helped you last year. But Ginny's told us everything."

Harry's eyes bugged out and he looked furious. "Then why aren't you warning her to stay away from him?"

"He's no more danger to Ginny than he is to anyone else," Luna said.

"He's already tried to kill her once!" Harry shouted.

"And you, and Hermione, and Colin, and Mrs. Norris," Neville insisted. "And many, many more people if you count You-Know-Who's victims and not just those our second year."

Harry sighed slightly. "Exactly," he said, "which is why she should stay away from him."

There was a pause and Ginny decided it wasn't worth her while to answer back to Harry just yet. Instead, Luna spoke up in her trademarked dreamy voice. "Actually, it would probably work to our advantage to have someone who could know what was going on in his head, and as Ginny is the only person in the entire school he's spent much time talking to, I think she's our best option at the moment. Except Blaise Zabini, who I think might stand a chance to become his boyfriend," she added, as an afterthought.

Harry paused for a moment, unsure of how to take this. "Boyfriend?" he asked.

Luna nodded. "I'm almost certain he's gay."

"Why?"

"Have you seen him talking to any girls?"

"Ginny," Harry answered immediately.

"Except her."

Harry considered for a moment. "Well, you might have a point," he said at length. "But he could always be antisocial. He hasn't been too talkative to male students either."

Luna shrugged. "Besides, from what Padma says, only gay guys are as attractive as he is. Which stands to reason that were Draco Malfoy ever to lose the overly sharp nose, he would be a shoo-in."

Ginny blinked for a moment and looked at Harry and Neville's shocked faces before cutting in. "As interesting as this is, Luna," she said firmly, "I think that the point of the matter is that I am in no particular danger from Ophicus Marvolo at the moment, and Harry should just lay off."

Harry, however, did not seem like he had any intention to do so.

"Listen, Ginny, Ron and I are worried sick that you're going to get yourself into trouble again, and your mother made me promise to keep an eye on you. The only reason I can see that you'd be hanging around that Ophicus is an act of rebellion, and let me tell you that those don't get you anywhere fast, so you might as well can it and start acting like a responsible adult. Have a little thought for yourself and those around you. It doesn't do to go spending time with Lord Voldemort."

Ginny glared daggers at Harry. "He's not Lord Voldemort," she spat, "He's Tom Marvolo Riddle. There's a difference, ask Dumbledore. If you want me to start acting like an adult, maybe you should start treating me like one. I don't need you to watch over me, Harry James Potter. I don't need anyone to watch over me, I'm not a small child in need of a nanny. Had you thought for a moment you would have realised that perhaps, just perhaps, the reason I spend time with Tom Marvolo Riddle is that he's the best in your year at Potions, and I am desperately in need of help. But maybe you're too thick headed to realize that."

"Hermione would help you," Harry offered.

"Tom's better."

Harry sighed. "Yes, and I expect that Lucius Malfoy is wicked good at hexes, but I don't see you going to get his help on them."

"This is different, Harry, and you know it."

"No, Ginny, it isn't. Going to Voldemort for help on Potions work is worse than asking Mr. Malfoy to tutor you on Charms."

"For the last time, Harry, he's not You-Know-Who."

"Prove it."

"No one can, you know that."

It was at that point that they noticed Neville and Luna were long gone. All the better for them, though Ginny hopelessly. Harry was ranting again. "… that Dumbledore says so is no reason for you to go about, trusting him implicitly and acting like he's your best friend!"

"Dumbledore's word should be good enough for you, Harry."

"He's not perfect," Harry said, disappointed. "You should know that."

"I do. But I still trust him." There was a pause in which no one spoke.

"Look, Ginny, I know you and if anyone who isn't a Death Eater knows Voldemort I know him too. I know you're a powerful witch and you're coming into your own, but that doesn't mean that I trust you to confront the most powerful dark wizard of our time. More than that, it doesn't mean that I would have you confront him out of choice. I wouldn't do that myself and I've faced him more than any other living wizard. It's terrifying; you should know that from last year. We don't think you're a worthless child, Ginny. We just want to make sure you're safe."

Ginny shook her head. "I can make sure I'm safe, Harry," she whispered, and then louder, "Besides, you're one to tell me you know what's best. You don't really know me. You don't even know my name."

"Yes I do," he insisted.

"What is it?"

"Virginia Molly Weasley," answered Harry without a pause, and Ginny laughed.

"Wrong, Harry. Maybe you should do your research better." She started to walk away, but Harry called behind her.

"What is your name, then?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because, Ginny, I'm your friend."

Ginny stopped to stare at Harry as he ran the couple steps to her and smiled down at her. She only glared, although she could barely see him, blinded by rage. "Harry, even given my embarrassing crush on you my first year, any thinking wizard would know that that's too little, too late. You're my friend? Prove it." She took a step away and started walking, trying desperately to keep him one step behind her so that she wouldn't see his face. She could hardly see where she was going, but she hadn't walked into a wall yet so she just kept barrelling onward.

"I saved you from Riddle, from the Basilisk!" he nearly shouted.

"You would have done that for Millicent Bulstrode," she answered quickly, "and you're the only one who doesn't seem to know it."

"I… I…" Harry stumbled, trying to think of one time he had done something truly spectacular for Ginny in the more recent past. She turned to watch his gaping face victoriously, but that was her undoing. The floundering look on his face touched her heart, because for once Harry Potter was thinking of Ginny Weasley as not a little girl in need of rescuing, but as a thinking human being. And simultaneously, he realised that he hadn't behaved like her friend. Ever.

"I know, Harry. I know," Ginny said, calmly. "We are friends," she said, finally softening to the panicked, despondent look on his face, "perhaps only for my brother's sake, but we are friends. You got me out of my funk in Grimmauld Place, and allowed me to stand up to my mother calmly. That has to count for something. But that doesn't mean that you should have control over my life or who I talk to. You'll have to find a good reason for me not to talk to Tom in order for me to do so."

She hadn't noticed that while she was talking softly, Harry had been staring at the wall behind her and not at her face, but now that she had stopped talking it was obvious. He stood, dumbstruck, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, and slowly he pointed to the wall, saying rather bluntly, "Well, is that good reason?"

Ginny blinked, and then she flinched. Suddenly she wasn't sure she wanted to see what was on the wall behind her. Slowly she turned around to see something written on the wall, in red blocked letters that she hoped against hope were written in red paint and not blood. The Heir of Slytherin has returned, it said. The school will soon be mine.

Ginny felt her knees give out under her and she grabbed the nearest solid object, which happened to be Harry. She hardly noticed as he lifted a hand to her shoulders to steady her. This couldn't be happening. She shuddered and impulsively looked down at her robes, and only when she was sure that they were pristine did she close her eyes and weep. It was Tom, she knew it. It wasn't her, but it was Tom, and perhaps that was even worse. She had been wrong, or right, or something, but it had all been too late, and whatever horrible plan Tom had was already in motion. It would all happen again, as sure as her name was Ginevra Molly Weasley, but she wouldn't be called fool so quickly, she vowed ruefully. She needed help, and she needed it immediately. "Ginevra," she gasped into Harry's shirt.

"What?" he asked.

"My name. It's Ginevra."

"Oh," he said dumbly as he led her to the Gryffindor Tower. "I guess that means we're friends?"

"We'd better be, Harry. We'd better be."


	16. The Writing on the Wall

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** So, a little while on this one due to wrist injuries and so forth, but here it is. The denouement of Halloween continues, Dumbledore has been doing strange things to the Chamber of Secrets, Draco Malfoy is a prat, and Tom finds something frigtening on his pillow. Otherwise, joy abounds? Thanks go to Fantome (Neville's bravery is a huge caveat of mine – I've been looking forward to that line for a while), Mango (w00t w00t, Aleta Quinn indeed), Lady Lestrange, and Voldy's Pink Teddy for their reviews.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 16: The Writing on the Wall**

Tom, or Ophicus, or Lord Voldemort, or whoever he really was, was bent over a text in the library, dutifully taking notes, when he heard a commotion in the hallway outside. Blinking, he was about to stand and head to the doorway to see what it was when Madame Pince slammed the door shut, glaring at the noisy students outside and then smiling sweetly at him. While vulture-like and snappish to most students, she was certainly one to appreciate a quiet studier, and as the young man had been doing nothing but silently taking notes all day, she was in quite a good mood towards him at the moment. Tom shrugged and went back to his notes.

He had been in the library since just after breakfast that day, forced to remain at the school more out of duress than active choice; for he had no legal guardian and neither Dumbledore nor Snape had been forthcoming with the necessary signature. The orphanage he had called his home as recently as the past summer had been condemned and torn down twenty years ago, the land it had been on was now a park with transplanted grass, recycled playground equipment, and fledgling imported trees to please the families that had been shipped into the burgeoning suburbia over the years. Anyone who could have signed the form was gone, and so Tom had no option but to remain at Hogwarts. It wasn't that bad, considering he'd never have to return to that hell-hole again, but at the same time he was certainly disappointed that somehow over the years they had misplaced the caretaker's signature. It meant that his world was severely limited – fenced in by so many stone walls.

His aim, upon entering the library with a bright and glorious day ahead of him, was to find out as much as he could about Ginny's strange psychosis. As such, he pulled from the shelves the entire section on wizard and Muggle psychology, and half of the books on psychoactive spells, and perused each of them carefully before throwing them aside (carefully, because Madame Pince's unforgiving attention was wholly turned upon him, the library's only inhabitant) and picking up the next. He found nothing.

Or at least, close to nothing. The Muggle books said he should talk to Ginny to try and find out her opinion on the matter, the wizarding books said that any sort of spell to delve into someone's subconscious had to be done with their full approval and assistance (unless, of course, you happened to be a Legilimens, in which case everything would be much, much easier). Tom read up on Legilimagi enough to discover that while there was a chance he could develop the ability to perform a crude sort of mind-reading, he was hardly adept at it yet, and he certainly wasn't about to waste the time and energy necessary to become one simply for his pet project in Ginevra Molly Weasley.

So he turned that aside, running his hands through his hair in frustration (but making no noise, for Madame Pince was still staring at him, just waiting for him to make some mistake so she could throw him out and have the library to herself) and wondering where to go next. Carefully, he replaced each of the books on their respective shelves, and silently he returned to his table where a long scroll of notes on mind reading and possible psychological explanations for strange behaviour such as Ginny's stood out in bold letters.

Near the top was Stockholm Syndrome, which he supposed had much more of a likelihood than many of the other things on his list. It at least partially explained why she wouldn't avoid him like the plague even if she thought he was evil incarnate. The only problem with that logic was that, as far as he could tell, she didn't identify with him in the slightest, but rather found him a bit of a pest and a good Potions tutor.

So maybe it really was as simple as that, he thought idly, looking at all of the psychological terms in front of him and finding each more absurd in relation to Ginny than the last. Maybe she was just as confused about him as anyone could be – oscillating between believing the truth that he was an innocent victim and falling back on the story she had been told for years and years and accepted as the truth, the one that seemed so much more logical, the one that said he was as bad as they come. Maybe she was sorting everything out just like he was trying to do, and honestly just didn't trust him farther than helping her with her Potions work. It was probably the most likely situation that Ginny Weasley was perfectly sane but very, very confused.

He had, at that point, looked up at a clock and realized that lunch was already half over in the Great Hall, and so he hurried out of the library and continued his thoughts over a meal.

All in all, Tom decided, it would probably be useless to know any more about psychoactive spells or psychological illnesses until he knew more about Ginny, and knowing more about Ginny would be greatly aided by actually speaking to her about something other than Potions. And that required either Ginny to suddenly become proficient in the subject or Tom to figure out another reason for Ginny to spend time speaking to him. And all things considered, the former was most certainly not going to happen without some help. However, spending even more time with the youngest Weasley wouldn't exactly endear him to either her friends or his own acquaintances, and he was rapidly running out of hours in the day between prefect duties, and studying, not to mention keeping track of what the fifth years were doing in Potions so he could be sure he would be able to help Ginny on her newest subject of trouble.

He resolved, therefore, that he would have to find a way to spontaneously effect change in Ginny's ability in Potions, which meant he would have to be ahead of the game. Upon returning to the library, he strode directly to the Potions section and pulled out a few choice texts, trying to remember precisely what it was he had done in his fifth year. It seemed so long ago, even though he was only in his sixth. But soon he had come up with a list and was checking subjects off quickly, copying down foot after foot of choice passage in the texts as helpful notes for Ginny. She was a voracious note taker, but had the mental retention of a sieve when it came to Potions. Anything would help.

The fourth book that he pulled out, when he attempted to flip to the index, instead fell open onto a page on a Draught for accentuating Animagus powers in wizards who weren't talented enough to come by them naturally, revealing two pages of worn out notes. On one side was a list of names, things like _Wolfie, Antlers, Rover, and Whiskers_ or _Howler, Squeaky, Horny and Paws_, finally ending with _Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs,_ with a flourish and a title: _The Marauders_. The other side was much more elucidating, featuring notes on how to make a parchment speak for itself. Thoughts of the Diary flew instantly to mind, but the pages, while yellowed with age, were not old enough to be before his time, rather twenty or twenty five years old at most. He read them, entranced, and praised whichever of the self-named Marauders had taken such detailed notes, because they pointed to several more books that weren't in the Restricted Section.

Tom had thought of trying to figure out what had gone on in the Diary, but he was almost certain that it was dark magic, and such things were almost entirely housed in the Restricted Section, so he had given up that ghost long before he pursued it. But these texts were all available to the entire school, and he pulled them from their shelves eagerly, flipping to the indicated pages and reading them as fast as he could.

By the time he looked up from his note-taking, startled by the sound of frightened students outside, it was quite close to dinner and students should have been returning from Hogsmeade. Tom merely shrugged and turned back to his notes, finishing the last book on the list and adding the last dot to the last I in his last sentence with a sense of finality that caused Madame Pince's beaklike nose to be pointed, once again, straight at him. He sighed (silently, of course) and carefully picked up the texts to return to their shelves, falling back into his seat a few minutes later, a smile creeping onto his face.

His problem of communicating with Ginny Weasley was at an end. He pulled out his wand and two bits of spare parchment and set about enchanting them, reading his notes carefully and whispering every necessary incantation (were he to speak any louder, Madame Pomfrey would realize that he was doing magic in the library and finally be able to throw him from its sanctuary). Finally, ten minutes later, he was finished, and dabbed a drop of ink onto one of them to see the result.

An identical drop showed up on the other. He wrote a sentence, _'I am testing this – does it work?'_, and the words written on one page formed themselves on the other. He smiled, and after a few seconds on the page, they disappeared. He would have laughed, had he not been afraid of being kicked out of the library. Here was the way of communicating with Ginny – in just the way they had spoken before, only hopefully without the painful soul-sucking and transplantation that any user of the Diary was prey to. He searched his notes for ways to perfect it, and was whispering an incantation to preserve the words on a page until they had been read when the doors opened, therefore missing Draco Malfoy's entrance and being quite surprised when the other boy slid into the seat across from him.

"Ophicus Marvolo," he sneered, "Just the man I was looking for."

"What is it, Malfoy?"

"I have a message for you – but apparently you need help with your Quick Quotes Quill – it's the quill that does the copying, not the parchment, you know," the blonde boy drawled, much to Tom's disdain.

"I assure you I know _exactly_ what I am doing, Malfoy."

Malfoy, instead of listening or changing his behaviour, instead pulled the original sheet of notes from beneath Tom's parchments and began perusing it. "What's this," he sneered. "Wolfie? Moony? Looks like good old Lupin had himself some friends – what a surprise." He looked up at Tom and smirked incredibly. "Want to become a Gryffindor, Marvolo? Worshipping Scar-head's old man and his friends just like the rest of them?"

Tom frowned. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Malfoy."

"These notes," he said. "The only werewolf to have attended Hogwarts went by the name of Remus Lupin, close friends to Sirius Black, unregistered canine Animagus, and James Potter, altogether useless father of an altogether useless boy who happens to have a scar on his forehead. Wormtail is the only acceptable one of the bunch – finally saw the light and sold his pathetic old friends to the Dark Lord as comeuppance or some such. At least, that's what they're saying now – it used to be that Sirius Black was the one what betrayed James and Lily Potter."

Tom blinked and raised one eyebrow. "As elucidating as that speech was, Malfoy, it fails to explain exactly why my gathering information with some similarities to the work of certain former Gryffindors constitutes me wishing to be in Gryffindor, although I can hardly say that any house in the school wouldn't be more pleasant than sharing a room with you and your two goons."

"What's that?" Malfoy snapped.

"They snore loud enough to wake fossils, Malfoy."

There was a bit of silence in which Malfoy had no idea what to say, because indeed Crabbe and Goyle snored at decibel levels unknown to him before he attended Hogwarts, so it was no use denying Tom's point. But Malfoy had been sent on a reason, and so he quickly fell back on that. "Dumbledore wants to see you," he muttered, "About the Heir of Slytherin – he's back. Don't see why Dumbledore would want to see _you_, though, it's not as though you have anything to do with it."

Tom's eyes widened and he stood quickly. "Of course I don't," he muttered. "Barney old fool, I'll be back in a moment doubtless." He shoved all his parchment into his bag and tried to be as business-like as possible as he marched to Dumbledore's office.

How could the Heir of Slytherin be back? Voldemort was far too powerful, far too known in the world at large, to resort to scheming tactics like frightening Hogwarts with stories of the Heir to Slytherin's monster, especially when the Basilisk had been killed by Harry four years ago. And certainly Dumbledore couldn't think he had anything to do with it, not unless he thought Ginny was just as guilty as he, because in all actuality she _was_ just as guilty as he. Tom rounded the corner and found the gargoyle in front of Dumbledore's office before he realized that he had no idea how to get in. Fortunately, Dumbledore must have known he was coming because at that moment the gargoyle swivelled in place and allowed Tom to pass through to the Headmaster's office. He entered and sat unceremoniously. "Malfoy says you wanted me?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and nodded. "Yes, Tom. You must have heard about the writing on the wall?"

Tom shook his head. "No sir, I've been in the library all day. I heard a commotion a few minutes ago but I have no idea what it was about."

"Someone is up to tricks again, I believe," Dumbledore said in a serious tone. "Someone has written _The Heir of Slytherin has returned – the school will soon be mine_ on the wall outside the first floor girls' bathroom. You know the one; it has been closed off this year."

Tom nodded slowly. "Why would someone do that?"

"Inspire fear in the hearts of the students, force about a regime change by allowing professors and parents to be terrified at the thought of a repeat of the events of four years ago, simply for the amusement of watching students younger and less knowledgeable than they shriek in terror through the hallways. The desire to see other people frightened is nothing new, Tom."

Tom nodded slowly. "And what if this really represents a threat?"

"What are you implying?"

"What if Lord Voldemort somehow got into the Chamber of Secrets – and is gloating, as he tends to do?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Impossible. The wards around the school prevent anyone from Apparating in, and the walls around the school prevent other forms of unauthorized entrance. No, the school is entirely safe from Lord Voldemort."

Tom shook his head. "You were breaking enchantments on the Chamber left and right when you found me. Isn't it possible that something went wrong?"

Dumbledore stared at Tom defiantly. "Are you implying that I don't know what I'm doing, young man?" he asked, voice rumbling low in challenge.

"Of course not, sir. I'm just wondering if you really have taken all the precautions necessary."

Dumbledore closed his eyes and nodded sadly. "Yes, of course. Of course I have, Tom. I'm sorry to bring you up here; I know you had nothing to do with this. You may go."

And with that, a rather frustrated Tom left Dumbledore's office and returned to the Slytherin dungeon.

Tom realized belatedly that Dinner was already mostly over and he hadn't had a bite to eat, but by the time he would be able to make it to the Great Hall the meal would be cleared from the tables and he would be out of luck. Sighing, he sunk into a chair in the common room instead, and prodded at the matched parchments, wondering if there was anything left to do to them and how he would deliver it to Ginny.

An hour later he had perfected the parchments and yawned as he shuffled up to his dormitory, heedless of the calls from Malfoy trying to egg him into a fight. He ignored the boy and fell onto his bed, hearing a crunch as his head hit the pillow. It was dry and crisp and papery beneath his head.

Which, Tom reflected, was entirely not how a pillow was supposed to feel. He reached behind his head and pulled open the envelope to reveal a letter. He recognized the hand easily – it was his own.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle,_ it began,

_I find it laughable that you actually believed I had been defeated by that infant Potter. Of course I survived, and my only surprise was that you did as well. What a shame that I shall have to sully my hands with my own blood once more before you finally die. But worry not; I shall derive much pleasure from watching you suffer before you die. Perhaps the best part in all of this is that your suffering shan't be from my hand at all – in fact, you will receive more pain from the hands of those you wish to protect with your idiotic chivalry than from the hands of your enemies. How irony suits me._

_You never did make a very good Slytherin, and you never will._

_- Tom Marvolo Riddle._

Tom swallowed hard and, letter in hand, stormed back to Dumbledore's office. There had to be an explanation to this, and he was going to find it.


	17. The Luckiest Girl on the Face of the Pla...

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** Being as this will probably be the last chapter before November, I'm going to tell all of you that during that month I'm participating in NaNoWriMo, so I won't be posting any of this, in all likelihood. But the clear solution is for all of you to participate too, so you'll be so crazily busy that you won't care about silly things like reading other people's fics. In any case, thanks go to all my reviewers (and there were a lot this time!), Fantome, Slytherinbabe (like I said somewhere before – this isn't a T/G fic for smut or fluff, it's a T/G fic for exploring the psychology. I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't even 'get together' at all in this fic), Ray1, g21lto, Mango (Actually, as the only people who associate Tom with the Diary are Harry, Hermione, and Ron, and they already hate him, I don't think that Tom stands to lose anything by enchanting the parchment.), and Cassie (Glad you liked it!). And as this author's note is way too long already, I'll let you get to the chapter.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 17: The Luckiest Girl on the Face of the Planet**

The fact that it was past curfew barely registered to Tom as he strode through the deserted Hogwarts corridors so late at night. Had he thought about it, he might have waited until morning, but in his panicked, furious state, he certainly wasn't going to wait for anyone, least of all Dumbledore. He rounded on the gargoyle and suddenly realised that although he had been inside earlier that afternoon, he hadn't heard the password. He counted himself lucky, for the first time, that he had heard his share of old passwords over the course of the summer – he at least had some idea what his sweet oriented headmaster would use.

"Pumpkin Pasty!" he shouted, but nothing happened. Then, "Chocolate Frog! Cockroach Cluster! Lemon Drop! Fizzing Whizbee!" Still nothing.

"I should try 'Ton-Tongue Toffee' were I you," came a growl behind him, and he spun on his heel to find an entirely unappealing old man with a glass eyeball. The Gargoyle spun forth as if on a pivot, however, and Tom ignored the man, marching up the moving staircase with one thought on his mind.

However, upon opening the door to Dumbledore's office, his resolution wavered. All conversation halted, and he saw Harry Potter, Professor Snape, Dumbledore, what had to be six Weasleys, and several others, all staring at him angrily. Harry, however, was the only one to jump to his feet.

"What's the meaning of this, Riddle?" he shouted, "I knew you were up to something! You're not going to get away with it, you know!" he was furious, waving a parchment in Tom's face. Tom bit back his anger enough to pick the parchment away and read it – effectively, it said the same thing as his own.

"Honestly, Harry, I should be asking you the same thing," he said with as much diplomacy as he could manage, handing the other boy both parchments. Fortunately for him, the amount of consideration he could manage with the unpleasant old man with the glass eye directly behind him was considerably more than the amount he normally found his limit. "I found a letter on my pillow, I thought you should know about it," he told Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's eyes, however, were bereft of their usually kindly twinkle, and several of the Weasleys looked ready to burst. "Riddle, is it?" asked one of the older boys – this one had a dragon fang earring that dangled down to his shoulder and looked like it must have hurt considerably when the hole was punched. "Not Ginny's Riddle?"

Tom wasn't entirely sure what to say, but Harry answered for him. "Yes, Ginny's Riddle – how many do you know?" he snapped, handing Dumbledore the letter. "I say he should be sent to Azkaban immediately, Professor," he insisted. Tom was ready to pounce on Harry, but he looked around at the various people sitting in the office, and decided not to. He was unsurprised, if not pleased, when several of the Weasleys showed their support for Harry's conclusion.

Professor Snape was taking turns staring at Tom and Dumbledore, and finally broke his silence with a very agitated, "I believe something is going on that I don't know about. What do you have against my star Potions student, Potter, and why do you insist on calling him Riddle?"

Dumbledore sighed slightly and cleared his throat. "The fault is entirely mine, Severus," he said, sounding truly repentant. "This young man's name is, in reality, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Snape looked stunned for a moment and immediately pulled out his wand. "You mean…" he began, but Dumbledore interrupted.

"Yes, he shares a name with Lord Voldemort." Snape was silent. "You all recall the Chamber of Secrets incident and Ginny Weasley?" There were some nods. "She thought she was talking to Tom here throughout the year," he said. "Previously, I had imagined that Tom was as innocent as young Miss Weasley, but I must admit that recent events have me confused." He turned to Tom. "However, although Mr. Potter seems to be very eager to see you arrested, I see no reason to utterly condemn you for it."

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"Don't think this doesn't look bad, Tom," Dumbledore warned, "Don't think this doesn't look very bad. Right now, you appear very suspicious indeed. Consider this a warning of the utmost seriousness – if I have any reason to believe your story is not true, I will not show any mercy. Lord Voldemort deserves none."

"I understand, sir," was all Tom could say, for the moment.

"Consider yourself relieved of your prefect duties, for the present. I expect you to return directly to your common room, and I don't expect to hear another word about this tonight."

"Yes, sir," Tom muttered, and, placing his Prefect badge in Dumbledore's outstretched palm, he slowly exited the room.

He was halfway back to the Slytherin dungeon when he let out a frustrated roar and kicked the wall as hard as he could. As far as he could tell, the fact that he was entirely innocent hadn't helped him a jolt so far, and it would never help him as everyone in this strange universe seemed to think him purely evil, whether he protested his innocence or not. In all, it was a wretched situation and he didn't see how it would get any better.

"Today you will make Veritaserum," Snape sneered two weeks later, to a class which was primarily tired of his disdain. "Or, should I say, attempt to make Veritaserum, for I hardly believe any of your potions will be acceptable."

Tom sighed and shook his head. Ever since his late night meeting with Dumbledore, Snape had treated Tom worse than he even treated Harry. This cheered the Gryffindor up quite a bit, and might have effectively stopped his complaining of his Potions master, but it angered Tom to no end. In all, throughout the past two weeks, Tom had been forced to put up with all the hatred and anger that would have been directed to a new Lord Voldemort, without any of the fear and deference of a single Death Eater. Surely even Voldemort himself didn't have it quite this bad.

But Snape went on deprecating his students in his greasy, whiny tone, and Tom just tuned him out and started to pull ingredients out of his bag, preparing for the Potion.

"Mr. Marvolo," Snape shouted upon seeing this, "What are you doing?"

"Preparing for making Veritaserum – as with any Potion, the longer it brews, the more effective it is. Most of the Veritaserum used today is simmered for a week in entirety – I don't expect you will allow us that much time, so I had better make the best of what limited class time you've given us to make a decent facsimile of true Veritaserum," Tom replied, mincing the small button mushrooms that featured as a base for many psychoactive potions.

Snape was silent, only glaring at him. "You will have forty minutes," he sneered. "Begin."

And as he said it, Tom poured an entire bottle of aged dragon's blood into his cauldron and the mushrooms followed shortly. He began to grind three jobberknoll feathers in a mortar and pestle, ignoring many of the students as they rushed to the front of the room to grab lovage and wormwood. He wouldn't need those until the potion turned clear, and it was still a deep red when he sprinkled the ground feathers in and set it to stir, adding a bit of daisy root wine and a whole moonstone and setting it to simmer. The potion slowly clarified as the moonstone absorbed the unwanted elements of the dragon's blood.

Tom slowly walked to the front of the room and carefully chose from what was left, slowly walking back to his seat again to stir the potion gently. It was nearly clear, so he set about slicing the lovage and cubing the wormwood, adding them simultaneously once the potion was utterly transparent and he had taken out the now dark red moonstone. He leaned back in his chair, looking around him to see several students still chopping mushrooms, and smiled. He would have to filter the potion three times through a sage and willow filter before it was quite done, but that could wait until the final ten minutes of class. He set the cauldron to stir for him and pulled out a small piece of parchment, opening it and refolding it repeatedly, pondering.

The day after Dumbledore took his prefect's badge, while he was studying in the library for an Arithmancy test, he had been approached by a prefect he recognised only vaguely, as the Gryffindor fifth year female prefect, and one of Ginny's friends. "Why weren't you at the meeting this afternoon?" she asked. Tom had never been one to miss a meeting.

"They didn't tell you? I'm not a prefect anymore," he muttered, and considered ignoring the girl from that point forward, but suddenly realised that she was a very good contact to have, should he ever need to deliver something into the Gryffindor girls' fifth year dormitory. He looked up from his book. "Dumbledore took my badge last night."

The girl – was her name Amelia? – frowned. "You didn't have anything to do with the message on the wall, did you?"

"Of course not," Tom replied, mildly annoyed that everyone assumed that, but realising that this girl wasn't jumping to any conclusions that weren't logical – after all, Dumbledore would have had a reason for punishing him. "But everyone thinks so – your friend Potter wanted me sent to Azkaban. I suppose he can't live with a Slytherin who's actually popular." Tom tried to laugh, and Ginny's friend actually did.

She smiled after a while, and said, "I just noticed you weren't there and wanted to see what was going on – Malfoy was an insufferable conceit again, and you were sorely missed." Quickly and quietly, then, she left.

Since then she had found him after every prefect meeting, waiting patiently in the library, and had told him what went on. That night, he was going to give her the parchment for Ginny.

"You have five minutes remaining," Snape sneered from the front of the classroom, and Tom would have liked to wait until the very last minute to filter his potion, but realised that that wasn't a very good idea, and instead sauntered to the front of the classroom to pick up a filter and returned to his table casually, setting it up to drain into an oak bowl. Carefully he poured his potion into the filter, and waited a minute until all the liquid had drained through. Then he tossed the mushrooms that had been caught in the filter into a waste bin and switched bowls, pouring the potion through again. It went faster the second time, and even faster the third, and he was left with a few minutes to spare during which he cleaned his cauldron out and packed up, setting a small vial full of the stuff on the corner of his desk.

Soon enough Snape shouted that their time was up and went down the rows, collecting vials and insulting each student's Potion-making ability. When he came to Tom's desk, however, he could find nothing wrong with the liquid in the vial, so he instead said, "You know, Mr. Marvolo, that a poorly brewed Potion could result in severe repercussions to whoever should try it."

Tom simply nodded, and Snape added one drop of his potion to a glass of water on his desk. "Why don't you try some, Marvolo?"

Tom confidently walked up to the front of the room, and drank the entire glass in one swig. He could see Snape sneering at him, but as he swallowed, he ceased caring. There came a voice from the back of the room that he thought he recognised as Harry Potter's. "What's your name?" he shouted.

Tom's befuddled thoughts danced upon the issue that he really shouldn't be telling the entire class his full name, but then he settled on the fact that to be quite honest, he hardly cared anymore, and as Snape shouted out "Potter! Ten points from Gryffindor for your impudence and interruption," Tom answered simply "Tom Marvolo Riddle."

No one heard but Snape, who glared at him and sent him to his seat, pronouncing his potion a failure. Tom, however, knew otherwise as his mind cleared quickly from the small dose and short brewing time.

Harry cornered him as the students were dismissed. "Who are you?" he snapped.

"Ophicus Serpens Marvolo, you twit, and the potion's worn off."

"You mean it worked?"

"Of course it worked, do you take me for an amateur?"

Harry gave Tom a sidelong glance and then pulled a vial out from his robes, quickly dipping it into the potion and taking it out again, full, before Snape was the wiser. "You will tell no one."

Tom grimaced. "Why should I do anything you tell me to, Potter?" he scoffed, as Harry slipped the vial back into his pocket.

"Because if you tell, I slip some of this into your drink at lunch, and before you know it, you're in Azkaban because you've told Dumbledore that you're Lord Voldemort." Harry glared at Tom and turned away. "That's why."

"That would scare me, were I likely to tell Dumbledore anything I wouldn't have him know, Potter," he shouted, but Harry was long gone. Tom turned, instead, to Snape, and said, "You know that Potter just pocketed some of my Veritaserum," angrily.

Snape looked up at him and glared. "You would be best not to tell tales about other students, Mr. Marvolo, because I hate to take points from my own house."

Tom wanted to say that he was telling the truth, but he saw in Snape's eyes that it hardly mattered whether it was true or not – Snape would accept no testimony from him now. "I'm not who you think I am," was all he said as he left the room.

Down the hallway and out of earshot, Harry Potter was whispering furtively to Hermione Granger. "So… I pocketed some," he finished.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, although softening her admonition to a whisper, "If Snape finds out he'll kill you! Use of Veritaserum is highly regulated; I was shocked he even used any on Riddle like that. You have to destroy it now."

Harry only shook his head. "No way, Hermione, not when I can use this on Riddle and have him blab the fact that he's Voldemort. It's perfect – he'll be sent away to Azkaban, finally."

Hermione, however, was not to be appeased and didn't so much as look at him again on their way to Charms, where Ron was waiting. Harry slid into a seat next to him and began whispering the story of their Potions class, excitedly. Ron only beamed. "You know what this means, Harry?" he whispered, thrilled. "We can finally find out what Riddle is doing with Ginny!"

"Why not just ask Ginny?" Hermione asked, slightly angry with her two best friends.

"Aw, come on, Hermione," Ron moaned. "If you thought that Riddle was up to something, would you tell Harry and me?"

"Yes."

Ron sighed. "Okay, stupid question. But if, say, Krum turned evil and started trying to use you to get Harry, would you tell us?"

"Yes, Ron, and why are you comparing Tom to Viktor Krum? It's not as though he's trying to get Ginny to be his girlfriend."

Ron suddenly became very interested in getting his notes from his bag. "Of course not, Hermione."

"That's what you're afraid of?" Hermione laughed. "That your little, innocent sister will start going out with Lord Voldemort?"

Ron blushed to the roots of his hair but nodded. "Well… yes, Hermione," he finally said.

Hermione shook her head bemusedly. "First of all, we still have no reason to think that Tom is really Voldemort. Even Dumbledore doesn't think so, but with the Order around ready to send him off to Azkaban, he had to do something to punish Tom. And even if Tom were You-Know-Who in disguise, there's no reason to think that Ginny wouldn't realize that as soon as any of the rest of us, and avoid him."

Ron nodded slowly, but stood his ground. "Okay, fine," he said to Hermione, "But even if he's not You-Know-Who, he's up to no good with Ginny and I just know it."

Hermione shook her head. "And you wonder why Ginny doesn't confide in you, Ron."

"Harry, when you use the Veritaserum on Riddle, ask him about Ginny, okay?"

Harry nodded, and their conversation was cut short by Riddle's entrance and Professor Flitwick's excited squeak to begin class.

Charms class went slowly for Tom, who was still seething about the events in Potions, but eventually it ended and he made his way to lunch, where he was effectively ignored by the entirety of Slytherin house. Blaise Zabini offered his condolences for Snape's actions in Potions class – Tom was the first Slytherin anyone had seen Snape take an active dislike towards, but beyond that no one so much as gave Tom the time of day.

He had the same trouble in Arithmancy, the numbers swam on the page in front of him and he closed his eyes and rubbed his head in frustration, but nothing would work. Finally he gave up, spoke to Professor Vector about a headache, and got dismissed to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey, of course, found nothing wrong with him, but by the time she had checked him over thoroughly, class was finished and Tom went directly to dinner.

Afterwards, he sat in the library, waiting for the prefect's meeting to end and Amelia O'Connor to come and tell him what happened, fiddling with the bit of parchment again. He had reinforced it and fireproofed it and protected it against every sort of destruction, and now he pulled it out and folded it and refolded it whenever he had spare time, wondering if it was possible to perfect it further. He doubted it.

Amelia tapped him on the shoulder, a silly smile on her face, and sat down across from him, still smiling. "Hi," she said.

"What news from the prefect meeting?" he asked.

"They're patrolling the halls again, just like they did my first year – to protect against whatever wrote that message," she said, calmly. "So don't be out past curfew." He nodded. "Or, if you do, do it on alternating Thursdays, starting tonight – that's when Colin and I are patrolling, and we'll overlook it.

Tom smiled a bit at that, and she continued. "Malfoy's going in to be just what you were, now that you're gone – he's trying to usurp the Head Boy's spot. But he's not doing so well because no one likes him except Pansy, really. Hermione's heading up a committee to make sure the school is still safe against Apparition, Professor Quinn suggested it, but they won't start for another two weeks or so.

"We're trying to get decorations in order for Christmas, but every house wants their colours to predominate, so we're having a spot of trouble with that. I tried to tell them that Christmas colours are typically red and green, but they wouldn't listen. The Head Boy went on and on about Ravenclaw being underrepresented. But that's effectively all that is happening."

She laughed and Tom smiled, pulling out a parchment. "I was wondering if you could deliver this to Ginny for me," he said, sliding it across the table to her. Amelia looked at it, and, seeing it was blank, frowned.

"Well, I don't see why not, but why can't you give it to her yourself? And what is it?" "She'll know what it is," he assured her. "But she's been avoiding me since Halloween, so I figured I'd have to deliver it through someone else. It's a way for me to…" he paused, before continuing, "help her with her Potions work."

Amelia smiled and folded it, sliding it into her pocket. "Of course I'll give it to her. But she's worried about the Quidditch match on Saturday, so I don't know when I'll be able to."

Tom nodded and thanked her, adding, "Just one more thing – don't tell her who it's from. I'd like it to be a secret…"

Amelia's smile widened to a smirking chuckle. "All right, Marvolo."

Tom thanked her again, smiling a bit himself, and then was gone. As he left, Amelia sighed and shook her head. With both Ophicus Marvolo and Harry Potter after her, Ginny Weasley had to be luckiest girl on the face of the planet.


	18. The Quidditch Match

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** So, in honor of the fact that I've finished NaNoWriMo and am still procrastinating on my math homework, here is a chapter for you all. I hope you didn't abandon me over the month, and I promise that they'll continue at approximately the same pace they were going before – one every week or two – for the forseeable future, until the end. In any case, thanks go to Fantome, Sarcasma (Wow, all the chapters! Thanks! And I'm glad that you got over your original misgivings about the story!), and Lady Lestrange.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 18: The Quidditch Match**

The only reason Ginny Weasley woke up as early as she did was Hedwig pecking at her madly. Harry must have sent the owl to come wake her up for the Quidditch game, although why she had to wake up two hours before it was scheduled to begin was beyond her. "Okay, okay, I'm up, you don't need to maul me, Hedwig," she whispered to the owl as she sat up, swatting the bird away. "Go and tell Harry you did your job – I found it entirely impossible to sleep this morning." Hedwig hooted proudly and flew off through the window.

In the dark, Ginny found it almost impossible to find any of the robes she had hastily thrown on the floor the night before. She searched the carpeting for the familiar bright red and yellow Quidditch robes, and pulled them unceremoniously over her head immediatley after she had found them. She tried to search through the mess on her desk for a comb, but after a few minutes Hedwig was hooting anxiously at the window and she abandoned her search, running a hand through her tousled hair and hoping it wouldn't look too much like she had just rolled out of bed.

"You're late Ginny," Harry's voice greeted her from the common room as she entered, rubbing her eyes, but he sounded much too cheerful for Ginny to take him seriously and she just shrugged him off. Ron, on the other hand, had more to say.

"You look wretched, Gin," he said, and she passed him a glare.

"This is what happens when you're attacked by a psychotic owl," she grumbled, sharing her angry glare with Harry as well. He just beamed at her, and several of her team mates laughed. Dean even reached a hand out to tousle her hair even more than it already was, but one warning look from Ron would have stopped even the bravest Gryffindor.

Seamus caught a laugh in his hand and Harry began talking.

"Just because this match is Ravenclaw doesn't mean it'll be easy – they have a much more experienced team and we need to be on our best playing. Ginny, Katie, Dennis, you know what to do – if you stick to the formations we practised you'll do fine. Most of all, don't get scared that they'll pull some amazing new strategy out of a hat – in all the years I've played against Ravenclaw, that has never happened, and I think Katie can attest to that as well." Here Katie nodded. "But watch out – Cho has always been a good seeker and she always will be, which isn't to say she's infallible. After all, even our new chasers could catch the snitch from right under her nose." He grinned at Ginny but she was too tired to respond. "But barring something really serious – an attack on the school – I'm pretty sure that none of you have to worry about who catches the snitch." Harry allowed himself a moment of glowing pride that only sickened Ginny a bit. "So just score as many points as you can.

"I want to put as much of a distance between Ravenclaw and us as I can, because it will put us in good stead when we play against Slytherin. Cho and Draco are evenly matched, and the Slytherins won't care about it enough to cheat too overtly, so Ravenclaw stands a good chance of beating Slytherin. And even if they don't, that's going to be a close game. So play your hardest – it will serve us well when it does come down to Slytherin," he smiled, proud of his speech. "Beaters – Dean and Kath – aim for their Chasers. Ron – block everything you can. You did well against Ravenclaw last year; you can do it again. Just put everything behind you."

Ginny yawned and blinked, and then something odd occurred to her. When she had tried out, Katie had most definitely been Quidditch captain, but now Harry was acting as though he had the captaincy. She yawned again and spoke up. "Umm, Harry? Isn't Katie captain?"

Everyone laughed again and this time Dean did reach over and tousle her hair, after which he was pinned with two of the patented Weasley stares. Seamus, there mostly because he would have felt left out with everyone except Neville vacating the room and partially because he was announcing the match, laughed again. Katie spoke up. "McGonagall suggested that Harry share some of the captain's duties, since he's been on the team as long as I have and he's a shoo-in for captain next year. She said it would help boost morale as well." She smiled benignly and Ginny was forced to accept it.

Harry signalled for them to move out and catch a quick breakfast before heading to the pitch to warm up. "Katie worked incredibly hard to get this practice time for us – we've had to open it to Ravenclaw as well, but they mostly value sleep too much to take it. I want you all on the pitch in half an hour for an extended warm-up."

Ginny yawned again and stumbled out to the Great Hall for breakfast, falling into step beside Kath, a fourth year and the only female beater Ginny had ever heard of. Kath held out a comb and Ginny tried to smile as she took it. "You need this more than I do," the younger girl said.

Grateful, Ginny pulled the comb through her tangled hair and pulled her hair back so it wouldn't get in her eyes during the game. She handed Kath back the comb and smiled. "I don't think that was a very tasteful joke Harry made about You-know-who," Kath said. "I mean, an attack during a Quidditch match?"

Ginny shrugged and tried to wake up. "You never know," Ginny said, "who says he was joking?"

Kath looked nonplussed. "As though there's going to be an attack during a Quidditch game."

"There was a Dementor attack your first year during a Quidditch game," Ginny answered promptly. "And You-Know-Who kidnapped Harry during the final task in the Triwizard tournament your second year. What's to say there won't be an attack this year?"

Kath just shook her head. "The Dementors were already around the school, and this is a much smaller event than the Triwizard Tournament. It's all under Dumbledore. There's no danger."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "What's to say that some of the students aren't Death Eaters? Draco Malfoy? Dumbledore can't refuse them entrance. And my first year someone enchanted a Bludger to chase Harry and no one else. Admittedly not You-Know-Who," she added after a pause, "but none the less."

"Who was it?" Kath asked, curious.

"I think it was a house elf. I'm not sure though."

Kath just blinked for a moment, and then was silent until they reached the Great Hall. "That was the year Voldemort got into the school, though," she insisted, "it won't happen again this year."

Ginny smiled sadly. "And what do you think that message on the wall on Halloween meant? I assure you, if Voldemort was in the school my first year, he's in the school now."

Katie leaned over toward Kath's frightened face and interrupted. "Is Ginny scaring you? Don't worry about her – I think she's obsessed with attacks on the school. She was almost killed in the Chamber her first year, her brothers told me that ever since she's been a bit off."

Ginny glared at Katie and said nothing. Kath spoke up. "Is that true?" she asked Ginny. "You were almost killed? Were you petrified?"

"Of course I wasn't petrified." Ginny answered, "I never saw the Basilisk until it was dead."

Kath frowned and asked Ginny a question she had hoped she would never have to answer. "Then why were you in danger of being killed?"

"It's complicated," Ginny said, meeting Harry's eyes from down the table. "But the person who had been leaving the messages kidnapped me and was going to kill me in the chamber – some sort of dark magic to get more power from my death, basically."

Kath nodded very slowly and shivered. "That must have been awful," she said.

"It was the most frightening experience of my life," Ginny answered truthfully, but Harry was waving his hands frantically for them to make their way to the pitch and Ginny trudged off with the rest of the team, Seamus staying behind and laughing heartily at their glum faces.

They filed on to the Quidditch pitch and picked up their brooms from the closet, Ginny's ratty old Cleansweep an embarrassment compared to Harry's Firebolt or even Katie's older Nimbus. She sighed heavily and hoped that her ability would make up for it, mounting the broom and doing a couple practice laps before she fell into formation in the middle of the pitch and Harry threw the Quaffle to Katie. She hardly noticed how tightly she was gripping the broomstick until she had to let go to catch the Quaffle and the splintering wood left an imprint on her hand. She reminded herself that, at least now, she had nothing to worry about.

An hour had passed when the Ravenclaw team filed onto the pitch and Harry motioned for them to finish up, heading towards the locker room for one final pep talk. "Beaters – good job," he said, smiling. "Kath – they won't be expecting power from you, surprise them. Dean – keep your eyes open at all times; since you're bigger you're not quite as agile. Ron, you're doing well but you just need to calm down. We have Chasers that can do their job amazingly if you do yours. Remember the last time you played against Ravenclaw."

Harry smiled at his best friend before letting Katie continue to the Chasers. "Ginny – don't be so nervous; you're playing well but your hold on that broomstick is like a death grip. Relax. Dennis, remember the drills we've done, and you'll be fine." Katie and Harry looked at each other and laughed, suddenly realising that they had nothing much to say. Katie concluded. "Let Harry do his job – and we'll win. If you all do your jobs as well, we'll smash them."

With a smile, they waited to enter the pitch. Seamus was in the box announcing, calling out the Ravenclaw team's names. "… Connolly, Bradley, MacIntire and Chang!" he shouted and then called out to the Gryffindor team.

Katie took the traditional role of captain and shook hands with Cho warmly, before everyone got on their brooms and Madame Hooch threw the Quaffle into the air, signalling the beginning of the game. Katie caught the Quaffle handily and began to race towards the Ravenclaw hoops, Dennis, and Ginny not far behind her. Bradley blocked her and she passed back to Ginny, who swerved past Connolly to get a clear shot at the goals – but the Keeper saw her too. What the Keeper missed was Katie, well positioned and next to the third hoop. Ginny passed to Katie and Gryffindor scored. Ginny relaxed her grip on the broom enough to clap her hands while the Ravenclaw Keeper retrieved the ball, but as soon as he passed it to MacIntire Ginny was back in game mode and choking her poor Cleansweep.

MacIntire barrelled towards her, supposing perhaps that since she was smaller she wasn't as brave as some Gryffindors, but he swerved to the right before she did and she reached out to pluck the Quaffle from his hand, tossing it over to Dennis as she raced towards the goal, and allowing the younger boy to shoot and score. She grinned madly and was going to make a funny face at MacIntire, but she decided it wouldn't be very sportsmanlike when Gryffindor was ahead twenty to nothing.

"What's this?" came Seamus' voice, "It looks like Harry's found the Snitch! There he goes!" the game momentarily stopped as everyone watched Harry flying at a breakneck speed towards the ground, Cho following right behind. Just as he was about to hit the ground he turned up, slowing to a snail's pace to see if Cho was still behind him, but she had lost control of her broomstick and rolled to a stop on the ground. Brushing it off and laughing at herself, she got back on her broom and flew up to where Harry sat waiting and smiling, glowing with anger. Ginny couldn't help but laugh until she noticed Michael Corner's eye trained straight on her. He was a beater this year.

The game began again and Ginny realised that while she had been watching Harry, Bradley had slipped by her and scored a goal, bringing the score to twenty-ten in Gryffindor's favour. Ron passed Dennis the ball and he swerved down the field towards Ginny and Katie, avoiding MacIntire and Bradley but looking desperate to find someone to pass to. Ginny flew around to an open spot and he passed the Quaffle to her, but just as she caught it she heard a crack and had to swerve out of the way of a Bludger hit straight at her. From high above her came Kath's voice, apologising, but Ginny realised that it certainly wasn't Kath's fault if Michael had personal grievances against her. She swerved back towards the goals and picked up speed as she flew straight for the centre hoop, waiting until the very last moment to throw the Quaffle to the right for a goal and swerve to the left so as not to run into the Keeper. The score was thirty-ten and the Gryffindor spectators erupted in cheer.

The Keeper passed to Bradley who feinted past Ginny and then passed to Connolly who swerved around Katie and Dennis, leaving a straight path to Ron and a goal, but Ron caught the Quaffle easily and the crowd grew even louder as he preened and grinned, passing the Quaffle idly to Katie.

The game went on very much the same for almost two hours. Gryffindor was up seventy to twenty and Ginny had the Quaffle when Seamus called out in shock that Harry had seen the Snitch again. Remembering what had happened last time, Ginny ignored Seamus' announcing and flew towards the Ravenclaw goals, dodging a stray Bludger, Bradley, and MacIntire easily. Only Conolly was between her and the Keeper, and she squeezed the handle of her broom even tighter as she feinted left and then flew right to dodge around him. She threw the Quaffle towards the goal and the crowd erupted into cheer even before she had scored another ten points.

It took her several minutes to realize that the reason for the cheer wasn't because of her play but rather because Harry had, finally, caught the Snitch.

The Ravenclaw Keeper, surprisingly, smiled supportively at her and tossed her the Quaffle. "That was impressive, Miss Weasley," he said. "But no one looks at the Chasers when the Seeker is doing something interesting." He laughed, and Ginny was forced to laugh with him.

Katie spoke up. "The people who really know Quidditch though," she said thoughtfully, "Can find excitement even in a Chaser's play."

"Or a Keeper's," Ron said from behind her. "That was amazing, Gin," he grinned. "Good job."

And even if the rest of the world lauded Harry Potter for his amazing game-winning play, Ginny floated down to the ground with a huge grin on her face because, after all, some one was noticing.

She handed off the Quaffle to Madame Hooch and grinned as Harry handed her the Snitch. "Good job," she said to Harry, smiling as widely as she could.

And really, the look on his face was enough to cheer her up. "You too. Some of those plays were really amazing."

"You have no idea," added Ron from beside her. "You, Harry, have no idea."

Ginny dropped her broom off with some reticence, her hands now aching with the feeling that she should be holding a broom, her palms raw and tender from her tight grip. She rubbed them together to search for calluses, but could only find blisters. Wincing, she headed slowly back up to her room.

The dormitory in daylight was very different from the dormitory in darkness, and the house-elves had tidied everything up for her, leaving her clothes neatly folded on the foot of her bed and the carpet showing where before there had only been a pile of papers. On the top of her desk, however, was a piece of yellowing parchment about the size of a page in a book, something that would have formed part of a scroll had it been connected on each side to a few more metres of parchment, but as it was would be easy to carry around in a pants pocket. She was unaccustomed to cutting pieces of parchment that small and stranger still were the words that were written.

"Hello Ginny Weasley," an all too familiar hand spelled out.

As she read them, the three words disappeared into the parchment. More were appearing after them, but she didn't read it. She folded it abruptly and raced down to the common room to find her housemates. Gwen and Jeannette were sitting in a circle with several other Gryffindors, applauding Harry's performance. Ginny pulled them aside and showed them the parchment. "Does this look familiar to you?" she asked, terrified.

They shook their heads and Jeannette spoke up. "That's just a piece of parchment, Ginny, it's nothing special. Why would I remember it?"

"You would if you had delivered it to me."

"It's not yours?" Gwen asked.

"It is; but it was given to me by someone who couldn't possibly come into our room. So one of you had to have delivered it for him."

"Or Elisa or Amelia." Jeannette insisted

"Right. Where are they?"

"I'd check the library."

Ginny nodded and ran to the library, trying to tear the parchment in two on her way but failing and only breaking the tender skin on her hands, causing a spurt of blood to sink into the page. Elisa and Amelia were no where to be found, but Luna was quietly studying and Ginny showed her the parchment.

Luna read everything and it disappeared. Finally, she looked at Ginny. "So? It's a note from Ophicus."

"Not quite," Ginny answered, and wrote on the parchment. "Wait a moment, Tom." It disappeared after a moment and more words came up.

"Why should I do that?"

Luna gasped and looked at Ginny. "It's two-way communication?"

Ginny nodded. "I had a diary like this my first year. It's what caused all the trouble."

Luna slowly nodded. "I guess you have to destroy it then," she said sadly. "It's such a nice spell too."

Ginny nodded slowly and sighed. She tried to light the parchment on fire in the library's fireplace, but no flame would catch. She couldn't tear it or burn it, and even when she grabbed a pair of scissors from Luna and tried cutting the parchment in half it simply bent and folded rather than being sliced apart. She supposed Basilisk Venom would probably work, but she wasn't about to try it.

And honestly, the more people agreed that she had to destroy it for her own safety, the less she wanted to destroy it herself. What harm could a few conversations do, anyway? And at base, this wasn't the diary, it wasn't evil, it was just a way to talk to Tom and get more help with Potions. She sat on her bed, pulled closed the curtains, and began to write.

"I'm sorry Tom, but why did you do this? You should have known what my reaction would be."

"Had you read what I wrote, you would have known that this isn't the diary." He responded.

"Well, I didn't. So why don't you tell me?"

She could almost sense that he sighed in frustration. "All I've done is to enchant two parchments to say the same thing, and to erase once they've been read. No soul spilling, nothing will pop out, nothing dark or evil. It's quite simple."

Ginny paused and answered "Okay. So it doesn't have a brain."

"No, of course not. It's just a piece of paper."

And the closer she looked at the words appearing on the page, the more she realised they weren't growing out of the page itself but rather being written by an invisible quill. She smiled and laughed to herself. This wasn't so frightening after all.

"So now that I have your attention," she wrote, "I've been having trouble with Emotive Elixirs. What's the difference between Emotoactive and Emotorevelative?"

The words disappeared and more were written. "Emotive Elixirs are draughts that change your emotions. Emotoactive means it actually changes your emotions while--"

Before Tom could write anything more Ginny began to scrawl a note on the bottom of the page. "I know all that," she said. "But how do the ingredients affect that difference?"

Slowly all the words faded from the page and Tom's precise hand came through. "You, Ginevra Weasley, are learning quickly."


	19. Sneaking and Secrets

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** Well, this was meant to go up on Tuesday, namely at least half an hour ago, but finals week has got the best of me and I completely forgot about this among other things. Hope it's fast enough for you. Thanks go to not as many people this time, Fantome (Sorry, more suspense here I think, but I'm glad you liked the Quidditch at least), Lady Lestrange (I wouldn't describe him as tame, just stubbornly not evil), and Sarcasma (Heh.. the conversation between Kath and Ginny was written before Kath had a character, so I'm very sorry about that).

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 19: Sneaking and Secrets**

"Ron," Harry Potter said one Wednesday evening in the Gryffindor common room, "what on earth motivated your mother to name her daughter 'Ginevra'?"

"What's wrong with Ginevra?" his best friend queried, looking up briefly from his Divination notes to stare quizzically at Harry.

"Nothing, I guess," Harry replied, "but I just always thought that Ginny was short for Virginia."

Ron blinked. "Well I suppose it could be, but it's not," he answered absolutely.

Hermione laughed softly at her friends. She was, perhaps, thinking how absurd it would be to name Ginny after innocence and purity. Molly Weasley might have some misconceptions about her daughter, but anyone would know that Ginny Weasley was much too clever and much too cunning to be _entirely _innocent.

Not that she didn't come close.

Harry was talking again. Evidently, he had no desire whatsoever to actually finish his Potions work. "Ron, how are we going to slip Riddle the Veritaserum?"

"I dunno," Ron shrugged. "Maybe we just slip it into his drink at dinner?"

Hermione scoffed at that. "And let the whole of Slytherin know what's going on? Snape would have our heads before we could say 'Blast-Ended Skrewt'. Honestly, what makes you think Riddle won't just go to Snape immediately afterwards and tell him what happened?"

Ron looked rather sick at the thought of Snape finding out, and he passed Harry a disappointed glance, but Harry was curt. "That doesn't matter," he insisted.

"Why not?"

"Snape hates Riddle more than he hates me. Riddle knows it; he'd never go to Snape for anything."

Ron cracked a grin. "I'm not going to ask how you know that, mate," he laughed, "but it's a life saver. So we just need to lure Riddle away from the rest of the Slytherins."

"Get Ginny in on it," Harry said without a pause. "She can do it at one of her study sessions."

Ron looked uncertain about that and Hermione jumped in. "We aren't pulling Ginny into this, Harry. She's gone through enough already – don't make her fight Riddle again."

Ron nodded blankly, but Harry frowned. "She would want to help," he said.

"Not on this one," Ron replied. "Besides which, I don't care if she wants to help or not – she's not helping because it's too dangerous."

Harry squinted at his friend. "Slipping Riddle some Veritaserum at a pre-organised study session? Hardly."

"Incurring Riddle's wrath afterwards?"

Harry sighed. They would have to come up with something else. It wasn't long until Ron and Hermione disappeared on 'Prefect duties' and Harry was left alone.

He wondered why they were so reticent to ask Ginny for help, and he wondered just what it would be that Ginny, in her newer more competent role, would really want. He decided that she would want to know what was going on at the very least, and that probably she would want to help. And then something hit him.

In his friendships with Ron and Hermione, it wasn't the saving-the-world theatrics that made them friends, but the more day to day occurrences. It was the fact that if they ever needed a favour they would come to him and he knew he could rely on them to be supportive in any time of need. The closest thing to befriending Ginny that he had done was allowing her to help him in the Department of Ministries last summer. But a real friend he wouldn't have protested so much about. A real friend he might have even asked for help. He had resolved his mind to ask Ginny to help him when she walked in, with two of her fellow fifth years. They were talking.

"I mean," one of them was saying, "Amelia just won't stop talking about what a shame it is that he's not a Prefect any more. She says that no one stands up to Malfoy any more, that Hermione just isn't effective at it, and so forth. Besides the fact that now it's back to not a single decent Slytherin prefect."

Harry gulped and listened for Ginny's answer. It was measured and politic. "I still can't believe that it's true – Ophicus not a prefect."

The third girl, only slightly larger than Ginny herself, laughed caustically. "Oh yes, and Amelia was just _so _broken up when she found out about it. I think she's been meeting with him after Prefect meetings." The first one who had spoken giggled slightly. "Which falls just short of your study sessions, Miss Weasley."

Ginny shook her head and laughed, and before Harry could call out to talk to her, she and her friends were gone.

Since she got the enchanted parchment, Ginny's housemates might have noticed her pulling away from them a bit more, but no one really saw anything as noticeably wrong until, upon reaching the dormitory, Ginny immediately pulled a parchment from the top of her desk and pulled the curtains closed around her four-poster, beginning to write. She had written two words; "Tom, Gwen"when Elisa poked her head between the curtains and gasped.

"Ginny? What's going on?" she asked.

"Nothing – I'm just writing," Ginny answered nervously.

"Just writing?" Elisa glanced at the parchment. Fortunately the words weren't disappearing. "Okay," she conceded, "But you know to come to us if anything's wrong, right?"

Ginny nodded her head and sighed in relief when Elisa left. But looking down at the parchment she suddenly realised that Tom probably had no interest whatsoever in Gryffindor gossip and she wished she could take it away. "Never mind," she wrote.

Slowly her words disappeared from the parchment. "What?" came the response.

"Never mind, Tom, it's just silly Gryffindor gossip."

There was silence, or emptiness, for a while, and Ginny sighed and continued to write. "Gwen says you're not a prefect any more. Is that true?"

Ginny almost hoped that it wouldn't be, for some strange reason – probably because she had decided that no matter how bad Tom actually was, Draco Malfoy was probably worse. But the word "Yes" curled onto the page and Ginny sighed. "Dumbledore felt he had to punish me when the threat was written on the wall."

"That was you?" Ginny asked, suddenly terrified.

"Of course not," appeared rapidly. "I'm no more at fault than you are. Who knows who it was, but it wasn't me."

Ginny sighed and continued to write.

Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common room, Elisa had found Harry. "Harry!" she almost shouted. "I need to find Ron, and fast!"

Harry blinked. "I don't know where he is," he responded lethargically and turned back to his Potions work.

"It's about Ginny – she has a new diary," was all that Elisa could say before Harry had jumped up and was looking as though Voldemort was about to pop out from behind a mirror or painting. Elisa's fears were confirmed.

"Get it away from her," Harry ordered Elisa harshly. "I don't care how you do it, but you have to get that thing away from her as soon as you can. Get everyone else in your year to help you – but take the diary away from her."

Elisa gulped, uncomfortable with this suddenly aggressive Harry. She nodded mutely and ran back up to her dormitory, where she found Ginny smiling and doing her DADA work, no parchment in sight. "Ginny?" she asked. "Where's the parchment?"

"What parchment?"

"The one you've been writing on – the one you call Tom."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Elisa."

"You were writing in it a few minutes ago!" Elisa insisted.

"No, I was doing DADA work. You're imagining things."

Elisa blinked and frowned but she could do nothing to affront Ginny's calm. "I'm not imagining things, you're lying."

Ginny sighed. "Why would I start writing to something I called Tom? That would only remind me of how horrible my first year was."

Elisa had to admit that Ginny wanting a reminder of her first year was a bit illogical. But neither could she deny the fact that she had seen Ginny writing to someone named Tom. "Can I look at your notes some time?" she asked shakily, as a direct address wouldn't work. "My potions notes are horrible."

Ginny smiled benignly. "Any time. They're usually on my desk."

Elisa smiled. She would wait until Ginny left to search through her things for the parchment in question.

Harry, on the other hand, wanted to do anything but wait. Ron and Hermione were still at their Prefect meeting and he was sitting restlessly in the common room, aching to burst into their meeting and shout that Riddle was up to something. He was talking to Ginny. He was writing messages. He was going to take over the school, while Dumbledore sat complacently in tacit approval of everything he did.

Harry was, of course, beside himself. He would have marched up to Ginny's dormitory immediately and torn the offending article out of her hands had the stairway not been enchanted against his entrance. He would have shouted bloody murder and wrung Riddle's neck right then and there, had he known how to get into the Slytherin dungeons. He should have, perhaps, gone to Dumbledore and alerted the professor to this new turn of events, but at the moment Harry was not thinking about what he should be doing, except solving the problem himself and in the most dramatic way possible. He had a thousand deaths prepared for Riddle already; he was aching to test them out.

He hadn't made any progress on his Potions work when Hermione and Ron entered, returning from the Prefect meeting with two seventh years and one fifth year trailing a few steps behind. Hermione, looking over his shoulder, was kind enough to point out that at this rate he would never get his homework done, but all Harry could do was growl out to Ron, "She has a diary."

Ron looked at Harry blankly. "What?" he asked.

"Ginny – one of the girls in her year says she's been journalising again, talking to someone named _Tom_."

Ron stood amazed but Hermione laughed a little. "So that's the parchment he's been working on," she mused. "I was wondering what he would use it for."

Ron suddenly turned on Hermione. "You knew about this? You knew what was going on, that he was planning on using Ginny just like last time, and you didn't say anything? Whose side are you on, Voldemort's?"

Hermione stared coldly at Ron. "I knew he was enchanting two parchments to say the same thing. That's all I knew, Ronald Weasley, and if you think that I would become a Death Eater that's absolutely absurd! Me, a Muggle-born and a Death Eater? They'd never accept me into their ranks even _if _they didn't overtly seek my destruction."

"Voldemort's a half-blood," Harry insisted.

"Not if he's not Tom Riddle. It's entirely possible that he's not anything – just an idea, a spirit of malcontent embodied in that diary," Hermione replied.

"You listen to Dumbledore too much."

"You don't listen to him enough, Harry!"

Ron was absolutely amazed that Hermione was yelling at someone and it wasn't him. But as soon as he came to his senses, he returned to Harry's aid. "I think," he said, "that the most important thing is to find out what's really going on – and to do that I think we have to go to Riddle. We've got to find a way to use the Veritaserum, and fast."

Hermione looked at him, shocked. "Ron," she said, sighing, "That might just be the one time you've been reasonable in your entire life." She smiled at Ron and he flushed bright red. But at least they weren't yelling any more. Things were, almost, back to normal.


	20. Discoveries

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** So, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and the like. I'll probably have a fast turnaround for the next one, unless I get distracted by writing chapter 23. Thanks to Fantome for being the only person to revew chapter 19. I like this chapter because it gets a lot said, I guess. Hopefully you'll enjoy it as well.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 20: Discoveries**

As soon as Amelia got back to the common room, Elisa pulled her aside. "I need some help," she whispered. Amelia blinked slowly and motioned for her friend to continue. "We need to keep Ginny occupied at all times – she has a new diary and Harry's told us to get it away from her."

Amelia nodded slowly. Ginny writing in a journal again was a frightening reminder of their first year and Harry Potter getting into it made it all the more serious. "Harry was upset about it?" she asked.

"Furious," Elisa responded.

Amelia squinted. "And Ginny was writing to Tom again?"

"Yes," Elisa answered.

"Don't you think it's strange that she calls Ophicus, Tom? And that Harry gets so worked up about her dealings with him?"

Elisa nodded slowly. "Yes, but I don't see how the two are related."

"Ophicus told me to give her that parchment she's been writing on."

"Oh," was all Elisa could say.

"And there's writing on the wall again, just like first year." Elisa was silent. "I think Ophicus Serpens Marvolo is the heir to Slytherin. And that his real name is Tom M. Riddle."

"You have got to be kidding – him, the only reasonably fair Slytherin in the school the heir to the founder? He likes Gryffindors – why would he want to take over the school?"

"Maybe it's all a front."

"Maybe he's a victim like Ginny was."

Amelia was silent for a while and conceded the point, but before she could get across the room to the stairwells, she sunk into one of the chairs by the fire in shock. "Maybe Ginny wasn't a victim," she whispered.

Elisa sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. "That's just silly – how could Ginny not be a victim? She's Ginny, we know her, she got sorted into Gryffindor and you know how the Sorting Hat can read your thoughts. It wouldn't have put a Death Eater in Gryffindor."

"Why not? And besides, if she was a victim, why didn't she tell us?"

Elisa shook her head. "I don't know. But I don't believe Ginny is evil. That doesn't fit with her, it doesn't fit with who she was or who she is. I can't believe we wouldn't have a clue if she really was up to something."

"We have to confront her on this," Amelia said.

"I tried, she just denies it."

"You've got to admit that's suspicious."

"Maybe she's ashamed of it. She didn't just get petrified; she was somehow lured into the chamber itself. She might feel like a dupe, and she doesn't want us to know."

Amelia frowned and thought for a moment. "Remember first year? How her robes would be covered in chicken feathers and blood some days, or paint others? And she would be pale and sickly and so very shy afterwards?" Elisa nodded. "Doesn't that strike you as strange, given her personality now?" Elisa nodded again. "She was killing chickens, she was writing the messages. I saw her get up out of her bed some nights – sleepwalking, I thought – but I think it was different. I think the diary, Tom, possessed her. That was why she wasn't sleeping well or eating well, she was probably terrified and guilty about it.

Elisa frowned, confused, and so Amelia was forced to continue. "I've read books about psychological troubles related to possession. The victim – Ginny, in this case – usually feels so guilty and at fault for their victimisation that they won't talk about it unless it's absolutely necessary. She would have had to tell her family, thus Ron knows about it, and Harry saved her so he must know, and with those two knowing it's no surprise Hermione does, but she didn't have to tell any of us – she could remain just the last victim and we would believe her. We wouldn't question her strange behaviour because it was just fact and we didn't know her back then. But something's going on this year too and if she's started to withdraw from us, that's a very bad sign.

"Judging from Harry and Ron's reactions I think Ophicus has to be related, but I don't know how."

Elisa sat in shock, and the silence weighed down on them for a few moments before she spoke up again. "Well, maybe you were right – maybe he _is _Tom."

Amelia winced. "Then I feel like quite the idiot, if he's really the Heir to Slytherin."

Elisa smiled slightly. "My thoughts exactly – wouldn't we have been able to tell all this time if he really was worse than Malfoy?"

Amelia shrugged. "All I know is that Ophicus being Tom from Ginny's first year is the only way this all fits. And it means we have to keep Ginny away from him."

Elisa nodded in agreement and they climbed the steps to the dormitory. Ginny was peacefully asleep; the curtains wide open so everyone could see. Her two friends smiled and got to work searching for the parchment Ophicus – or Tom – had given Ginny. They couldn't find it.

"It can wait until morning," Amelia whispered, and Elisa nodded. Surely nothing would happen before morning.

In the Gryffindor common room, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were bent over a table discussing. "This proves Riddle is up to something," Harry said warningly and Ron was too shocked to even agree.

Hermione merely shook her head. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all this," she insisted. "There must be."

Ron snapped out of his shock and snapped back that certainly there was a reasonable explanation, and it was that Riddle was once again trying to kill Ginny. "And I'm not going to let that happen," he concluded adamantly.

Hermione frowned. "But Riddle doesn't have any secret plans or anything, he's certainly not out to kill Ginny."

"How do you know that, Hermione?" Ron insisted.

"Because I've been working with him on Defence, and he certainly isn't up to anything – he's too swamped with work to be up to anything, or at least he was before Halloween; Malfoy and Pansy made him do all their work as well, so between that and school work – he's in as many classes as I am, after all – he certainly didn't have time to be forming an evil plot."

Harry laughed. "Hermione, remember who we're talking about. He plots subconsciously or something. It doesn't take extra effort."

Hermione, however, continued to frown. She realised that neither of her friends were going to concede to her on this point, even if she was right. However, she was far from admitting defeat and she considered that the best recourse would simply be to change the subject. "Have you two looked at the next charms chapter? Entrancing Enchantments are next – I think they deserve a little more than the two weeks Flitwick is giving them before the Christmas Holidays, after all, they're rather finicky spells."

Ron stared at her blankly. "Hermione, when do we ever read a chapter before it's assigned?"

Hermione shrugged. "It might prove useful on Tuesday when you have to cast the charm in class, is all I'm saying."

Ron laughed at Hermione. In fact, he was either laughing or scoffing at Hermione about the very idea of working ahead in Charms until the Tuesday class when, after five minutes, Hermione's monkey was slowly and rather drunkenly dancing and his was staring in his face blankly.

Leaning over, Hermione corrected his wrist position. "It's all in how you hold your wand, Ron. You're still using such an elementary grip that all these Charms are almost impossible for you. But if you'd just listen to me when I tell you that a more advanced grip will help you…" She shook her head, and adjusted his grip as well. "Now try," she said.

He tried, but nothing happened. Across the room, Tom was smirking at them and leaning back in his chair perilously. Hermione sighed in frustration. "You're doing it all wrong, Ron," she admonished, correcting his wrist position yet again and directing his hand through the requisite movements slowly. "It's not a swish and flick movement, it's much more a swirl and jab. Honestly, Ron."

Ron rubbed his eyes and picked up his wand again, beginning the incantation. He thought he was doing quite well when, two seconds later, Harry shouted in joy and he lost his place in the spell. He spun towards his friend and saw that Harry's monkey too was now dancing slowly and rhythmically to some unknown beat. Wincing, he almost threw down his wand. "It's hopeless, Hermione," he whined.

"It's certainly not hopeless, Ron," Hermione consoled him, before adding that had he really wanted to master Entrancing Enchantments early he could have read ahead in the book, but he had laughed at the very suggestion of that.

It wasn't hopeless, though, and by the end of the class Ron's monkey was tripping through a waltz just like everyone else's, thanks to the one-on-one assistance from Hermione and Professor Flitwick throughout the second half of the session. He beamed as he left the class, proud of his accomplishment. Hermione didn't have the heart to qualify it with the gross amount of assistance he needed.

When the three of them arrived at the great hall for dinner, Ginny and her friends were already sitting on the end of the table and chatting angrily. Elisa had confronted Ginny about diary-writing again, and Ginny was asserting the fact that she certainly didn't need even one nanny, much less four of them. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she fumed.

Amelia sighed and said, dead-pan, "We do know what we're talking about, Ginny, and I'll say it myself that as charming as Tom may seem, if he's at fault for what happened first year then he's not someone to trust."

Ginny only stared. "…Tom?" she whispered.

Amelia smiled. "Tom Riddle. Or Ophicus Marvolo as he is now."

Ginny gulped. "So maybe you do know," she conceded. "But he was as much of a victim as I was."

Elisa gasped and Amelia paled. "Ginny…" she whispered, "You can't mean that."

Ginny blinked. "I do mean that. He was possessed just like me, he almost died just like me, and the only difference was that no one like Harry was there to save him, so he had to save himself."

Amelia blinked. "So he's not the heir to Slytherin?"

"No," Ginny insisted.

"Then who is?" asked Elisa.

"You-Know-Who," Ginny said at length.

"But that means You-Know-Who got into the school our first year," Jeannette insisted. "That's not logical. It means that You-Know-Who got into the school on Halloween, and that's… that's…"

"Why Harry was so upset about the writing on the wall?" offered Gwen. "If it really is You-Know-Who that's doing this, some things make a lot more sense."

Jeannette shook her head. "So why does Harry hate Ophicus, or Tom, or whatever."

Ginny winced. "Harry thinks that Tom is You-Know-Who."

Her friends were absolutely silent for an eternal moment, and then Amelia spoke up. "Why would he think that?" she asked softly.

"Because You-Know-Who's real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle," Ginny said so softly that they could barely hear.

The silence that followed was deafening, it drowned out even the customary chatter and noise of the Great Hall at dinnertime. Ginny sat, frozen in fear, as her friends slowly understood the meaning of what she was saying. They wouldn't understand. They couldn't understand. How could they?

"Ophicus is named after You-Know-Who?" Elisa asked blankly.

Ginny froze, hoping they would accept that as the answer, but they didn't. Jeannette spoke up. "No, Elisa. Ophicus _is _You-Know-Who."

Amelia was silent and Gwen gasped. "Is that true, Ginny?" shuddered Elisa.

Ginny nodded slowly. "Tom Riddle is You-Know-Who. But not the Tom Riddle you know. A contortion of him. Tom Riddle was hijacked and turned into You-Know-Who."

Amelia squinted. "How so?"

"The diary. It was designed to take the hopes and goals of everyone writing in it and spit them out as a cruel contortion of humanity – in short, as the Tom Riddle who would become You-Know-Who. I think that Tom and I were the only ones to write in the diary, and he wrote first, so Tom Riddle became… well, you know."

"So the home-schooling?" Amelia began.

"False. He finished his fifth year at Hogwarts years and years ago – fifty years ago or something. He's been trapped in the chamber since then."

"Why didn't you see him when you went to fight the basilisk?"

Ginny shrugged. "I was preoccupied with my own problems," she answered. "I suppose Harry was too. It was dark in there, you could barely see far enough ahead to fight, much less make out a shape on the edges of the room."

Her friends nodded slowly but said nothing. "How do you know Tom was a victim?"

Ginny paused, trying to find a really good reason why Tom was most certainly not evil, but she knew full well that she couldn't. "I don't, not really," she answered.

Amelia frowned. "Ginny, you have to give us the parchment."

Ginny stared. "No, I don't."

"Yes you do," Amelia continued. "For your own safety. This is You-Know-Who we're talking about, not just any Slytherin. You've got to stop writing to him. And probably stop with the Potions lessons. I'm sure Hermione would be willing to help you."

Ginny glared. "Tom is better than Hermione at Potions, and he's not up to anything anyway," she insisted.

Amelia just shook her head.

They passed the rest of the meal in silence, and upon getting to the dormitory Ginny realised that she certainly wouldn't be able to talk to Tom without leaving. She snatched up the parchment before Amelia or Elisa could get to it and shoved it firmly into her pocket, fighting them off with uncanny fierceness before heading down to the common room. Elisa followed. "Ginny!" she shouted, "Give us the parchment! We're just doing what's good for you!"

Ginny turned on her friend, furious. It wasn't even so much that she wanted to talk to Tom anymore, but rather she knew for a fact that she wasn't going to let anyone boss her around, not her family nor her friends nor her housemates. She was her own person. She glared at Elisa and the other girl backed off, allowing her to leave the common room and head to the library. Hiding in a corner and pulling out the parchment, she saw on its pages a note from Tom, asking what she was so angry about. Puzzled, she wrote back.

"_Amelia and Elisa are on Harry's side – they tried to steal the parchment._" But as those words disappeared she realised what was perhaps more puzzling than anything else. "_How did you know I was angry? I haven't written anything._"


	21. Flipflops and Persuasion

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** Wow… so this chapter is crazy short, but it describes a plot-arc and it's important and I couldn't really add it to another chapter without making that chapter obscenely long, so here it is… We'll see how you like it. Thanks go out to Amazing, Lady Lestrange (although I suppose, after the e-mail I sent you, you won't want anything to do with me. Sorry if I was too harsh), Pixie (glad to have you back, darling!), Ray1 (I will just grin in response to that review), and Sarcasma (I have been struck by your powerful update hex and will therefore update quickly).

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 21: Flip-flops and Persuasion**

Sitting in the library, between two shelves, Ginny stared at the parchment in shock. Surely Tom couldn't have known how upset she was; she hadn't told him a thing, hadn't written anything on the parchment. Perhaps he saw her storming from the Gryffindor Tower to the library? She decided that must be the case and prepared herself for that answer, but what she got was something quite different.

"_The parchment was going crazy, swirling dark scribbles in black and red. I couldn't say anything except that it looked, well, angry. So I supposed that you were angry._" For a moment she couldn't move. This wasn't what the parchment was supposed to do; this wasn't what she wanted the parchment to do.

"_You mean the parchment broadcast my thoughts?_" Ginny asked, barely able to write, her hand shook so.

"_You mean you weren't writing?_"

"_No,_" she wrote, and her hand dropped to her side, she was paralysed in fear.

"_Then yes, it did, I suppose._"

There was a long pause in which no one wrote anything, and then, regaining her composure to a degree, Ginny set quill to parchment. "_It's never done that before,_" she scrawled, mind still reeling. She had too much to deal with. She didn't need the parchment to start acting up. That would be too much like first year. Much too much like first year.

"_I know._"

Altogether, that was an unsatisfactory response. Ginny wrote as much.

"_We can research it, figure out what's going on, over Christmas holidays. Why don't you stay so we can look through the library?_" The words seeped on to the page and Ginny's stomach sunk at the thought.

"_Fine,_" Ginny answered, knowing that staying at Hogwarts this Christmas would cause her endless grief in her family, but not caring. Somehow, it didn't matter anymore that Molly was worried sick about her daughter and Ginny had six overprotective brothers to deal with. Or perhaps it did matter, and Ginny was actively rebelling against it. "_But how do I contrive to keep the parchment until then? No one trusts me, Tom. They all think I'm out to repeat what happened first year._"

"_No, that's me,_" he responded, and Ginny could almost hear his voice take on a sarcastic lilt. She was calming down already.

"_Oh, yes, I forgot._" She said.

"_Lucky you._" And at that, Ginny Weasley had to laugh, she was so relieved.

It was long after curfew when Ginny snuck back into the Gryffindor Tower, but Ron was waiting for her nonetheless. "We need to talk, Ginny," he said, before she could tiptoe past and reach the safety of her own dormitory.

"I'm sorry I was out past curfew, Ron," she said, pretending to misunderstand his meaning. "It won't happen again."

"No, that's fine, Ginny," Ron said, before realising his mistake and abruptly taking it back. "I mean, no, that was very wrong of you, Ginny, but that's not what I want to talk about. I mean, Ginny, what's all this nonsense about writing to Riddle?" he stumbled.

"It's not nonsense. I'm writing to him through a parchment," Ginny responded, maintaining her composure admirably so far. "He's helping me with my Potions work, and you all were so opposed to us meeting in person, after all." She tried to smile sweetly at her brother but it wouldn't work.

"Ginny, you have to stop."

"Why?" she snapped. "Why is it any of your business?"

"Because you're my sister and he's… _You-Know-Who_." Ron yelled.

"No he isn't, Ron," Ginny shouted back. "Why can't you take Dumbledore's word?"

"Because I love you too much," he answered immediately. "I'm not going to lose my sister to the Dark Lord because she needed a Potions tutor. You matter so much to all of us, Ginny, and as long as there's any chance Riddle is You-Know-Who I'm not going to risk you." Seeing how shocked she was, he continued. "As long as you're here with us, there's something to fight for – there's innocence and beauty and idealism. But if you're killed, or even worse corrupted, what's the point? The very people we're fighting for are being turned against us then."

As sweet as his sentiments were, Ginny couldn't help but smirk. "You think I'm innocent and idealist?" she sighed. "You have me confused with Hermione, Ron. But you don't realise it. You think I'm a symbol of your cause, a child to be protected and never allowed to falter. But I'm my own person, believe it or not, not just the last of the Weasleys."

With that, she turned and headed to her dormitory, let Ron say what he might. But what he did say was a low blow.

"I'll be glad when you go home for the Christmas Holidays, at least then Riddle won't be able to get to you!" he shouted after her.

She rushed up to her dormitory and her bed and pulled the curtains closed, trembling, and did the only thing she could have done – she cried hysterically.

On the other side of the castle, in the Slytherin Dungeon, Tom couldn't help himself. He was staring at the whirling, scrawling lines of the parchment as Ginny fought with her brother, watching enraptured as they calmed to a mist of light blue and then solidified to a dark, solemn blot. His attention was absorbed as the ink disappeared and then, mere seconds later, something else appeared on the parchment.

Were they tears?

He pulled a quill out from his desk. "_Ginny?_" he asked. "_What's wrong? Why are you crying?_"

But no response came for a long time, just more tears. They resolved themselves into a criss-crossing network of water stains, intricate and ever changing, but unintelligible. Tom thought he could make out words, names, places, facts, but they were shifting and blurred, and although with each new teardrop they became stronger, they also leafed out into new, more illegible forms. He began to worry – what had they done that would cause that solemn blot in her emotions, these tears? She had cried before, certainly, but it was always his fault – he was comfortable with that. It was what he was trying to deal with. Ginny crying because of a Gryffindor's actions was something novel and strange to him. But certainly that was what had happened.

The hand that responded was trembling and the writing was tentative and shaky. "_Ron is being a prat, is all. He's decided that I need protection._"

"_Don't you?_" Tom responded, wondering why she would be upset that she had people to look out for her – surely, after what happened her first year, she wouldn't consider it a bad thing. She couldn't consider it a bad thing.

"_No._" She responded immediately, her writing more confident and quick now that her emotions were under control. He looked at the swirling watermarks on the paper, for they had yet to go away. Primary in the words, now easily recognisable, were things like 'china dolls' and 'damsel in distress'. He thought he understood.

"_You want to stand up for yourself._"

"_Of course,_" she responded.

The words had faded back into the background. He thought he could make out his own name in the watermark, but he didn't want to press his luck. "_Understandable,_" he wrote.

"_How do you know me so well, Tom?_" she asked, and he supposed she didn't realise how infantile she sounded just then. Certainly, she needed all the protection she could get, certainly she was still a child. But the watermark shifted with the ever-changing state of her mind, he supposed, and he was fairly confident at that moment of what it revealed. He considered keeping his discovery to himself, but decided against it.

"_Your tears – they've seeped into my parchment. It's a movable watermark. I think it tells your thoughts._"

Ginny was silent for a time. Tom didn't expect her to write anything, and instead waited patiently, watching the swirling and changing watermark beneath the parchment. Something significant was happening therein, but it was faint and he couldn't quite make it out.

"_I have to stop writing._" Ginny wrote, finally. "_This is too much like my first year._"

"_I promise you this parchment is not a dark object,_" Tom wrote, frantic that his pet project could not so soon be thwarted.

"_How do you know?_"

"_I enchanted it!_"

"_But you didn't expect this to happen. I have to stop writing._"

He could make out words now; things like betrayal and Basilisk. He frowned in frustration and would have shouted, but his housemates were sleeping and he didn't want to wake them. "_No, we'll figure out why it's doing this. Just stay over Christmas Holidays._"

"_I can't_," she responded, slowly. "_My family expects me to leave._"

Tom scoffed at that idea. To say she was an adult now would be laughable, so afraid she was of her family being disappointed in her. But were she a child she would also be easily swayed. "_Say you have more important commitments,_" he wrote.

"_They wouldn't believe it._"

He sighed in frustration but still would not let go of his project. In any case, he would discover what was going on with the parchment, because he was sure his spell could not have been wrong. This was just a new element – something to look at with curiosity and puzzlement, something to figure out. "_Well, do something then, but I'm going to figure out what's going on, with you or without you._"

"_No. Let me help._" Always a child, he laughed to himself, but he knew he had won.

"_Then stay._"

"_Fine._"


	22. Home for Christmas

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** Another exciting chapter for you, or at the very least an exciting ending, so I hope you enjoy it. I have the next two chapters sitting on my computer, but my beta-reader (who is absolutely wonderful) is taking a well-deserved break, so it shall be a couple weeks before I get anything past chapter 24. Just warning you, whoever cares. Thanks to Amazing, Sarcasma (I'll give you another chance for your clever tune) and Ray (I find it really amusing how… insightful your comments are in your past two reviews. I hope you like the ending to this chapter and the beginning to the next one as well). Enjoy!

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 22: Home for Christmas**

A fresh, white, blanket of snow covered the Hogwarts grounds, and more was falling from the sky to hail in the Hogwarts Express that would take students away for the Christmas Holidays. Ginny, however, was sitting on her bed with the blinds pulled, brow furrowed in concentration as she read about enchanted parchments. None of the examples in the books seemed even remotely similar to the parchment that Tom had given her, and to tell the truth that bothered her more than a small amount. She rubbed her eyes and tossed the fourth library book across her bed, picking up the final text.

_Chapter 17: Linked Objects_

_The art of linking two objects has been practised since the early middle ages, when lovers would trade linked rings to ensure fidelity – either partner would know if the other ring was taken off. Since that time, however, the spells used to link two objects have become at once more powerful and more subtle – allowing wizards to create pendants that will radiate heat when the master is cast into the flames, or even recreate writing on a parchment. _

This was interesting. Ginny continued reading, but unfortunately the textbook said nothing about dangerous side-effects, and in fact hardly mentioned parchments for the rest of the chapter. She sighed unhappily and threw the last book to the foot of her bed, swinging her feet out from under the covers and wondering what there was to do.

Across the room, Elisa's bags were stacked against the wall, and beside them stood Gwen's luggage. The students who were going home for the holidays had disintegrated into the frantic preparations for their journey, but Ginny had refused adamantly, and instead read, staying tucked under the covers in her four-poster. Sighing, and realising that she had nothing better to do, she leaned over and picked up the first book again, beginning to search it once more for any information. She wasn't too hopeful, but there was always a chance.

Elisa entered with a sigh. There was still snow on her scarf and robes, although Ginny couldn't tell why the girl would have been outside. Elisa tossed her things onto her bed and turned to Ginny, who was thinking very vaguely that Elisa was lucky she wouldn't have to sleep on that bed tonight – chances are the sheets would still be wet from the melting.

"Ginny? Aren't you going to pack?" Elisa asked. Shocked out of her thought process, Ginny turned back to the book almost to hide her face. She didn't want to respond. There was no good response. "The train is leaving in an hour or so – why aren't you packed?" Ginny remained silent, pulling the curtains shut on her bed.

"I'm not leaving," she mumbled into her book. She could hear Elisa pacing outside; she could hear her friend start to talk several times before she settled on whatever it was she was going to say. Ginny ignored her, and tried to study the text, tried to ignore the world around her. She had never been able to do that very well, and it certainly didn't help that someone was trying to have a conversation with her at the moment.

"Ginny, I'm getting Hermione," Elisa said warily. Well, that certainly wasn't what Ginny wanted to hear. She tore the curtains open and, pushing the book off of her lap, jumped from the bed.

"Elisa!" she yelped. "How can you… why do you…" she trailed off. She knew exactly why Elisa was doing what she was doing, and, disappointing as it might be she couldn't deny that her friend thought it was all for the best – her honest brown eyes attested to that. Finally, she just sunk back onto her bed and pulled shut the curtains once more. "Do what you like," she answered sullenly. There was no use in saying anything different, her momentary fright was gone and had been replaced with a calm sort of indifference – she wasn't going and that was final, but she was too frustrated with the textbook, which was telling her nothing, and too frustrated with the world, which seemed all too ready to pull her and tug her until she ripped in two, to honestly care one way or another. One thing was certain – Ginny Weasley was not going home for Christmas, no matter what Hermione had to say.

Elisa left and a few minutes later came back with the sixth year prefect. "Ginny Weasley, what's going on? Ron is waiting for you downstairs to see you to the train," Hermione snapped, pulling open the curtains to see Ginny inside, still in her pyjamas.

"I'm not getting on the bloody train, Hermione, so he'll be waiting for quite some time yet," Ginny snapped back, closing the book and turning to her friend with a stony expression.

"What are you reading?" Hermione asked and snatched the tome from Ginny's hands, skimming the first two pages before she quickly flipped to the pages Ginny had dog-eared and shook her head. "Why are you reading this? Notes on enchanted parchments? Ginny, what's going on? I thought you were going to destroy the parchment, but obviously you haven't and obviously something's wrong with it, or you wouldn't be doing research." She looked at Ginny in a way very reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny looked away from shame. Avoiding eye contact, she just grumbled, trying to snatch the book back from Hermione, but the older girl was too quick and began to read from the section Ginny had marked. "Soul-spilling? Ginny?" Hermione paused and her entire being seemed to soften as she saw Ginny cowering from her in the far corner of the four-poster. "You know we're here for you – what's going on?"

She reached out to touch Ginny's shoulder supportively, but Ginny shrunk away, sullenly silent. "Nothing," she answered a mere whisper. Hermione frowned and picked up the book again, hiding her face. Elisa, seeing the two of them had come to an impasse, quietly left and closed the door behind her.

An awkward silence passed between them and Hermione spoke up again. "It's about Marvolo, right? He's convinced you to help him on some project or another?" Ginny was silent so she was forced to continue. "Look, I don't think he's evil – the way Harry and Ron are treating him is downright outrageous, as though he were You-Know-Who or something. He's not, I know. I'm on your side, Ginny."

Ginny looked up at the older girl half frightened and half angry. "You're not on my side, or you wouldn't be trying to get me to go home for the holiday. You're on Ron's side because you fancy him," she said in as calmly caustic a tone as she could manage.

Hermione dropped the book and looked as though she was about to slap the younger girl across the face. "No wonder your parents treat you like an infant – you behave like one, Ginevra Weasley. I don't know what's going on between Ophicus and yourself, and I don't think I want to know at this point, but if you don't see your mother over the Christmas holidays none of us will be held accountable for our actions toward you." Ginny was frozen with fear and anger – how could Hermione do this to her? "You, Ginevra Molly Weasley, are going to pack up your things and go home for the holidays, just as was planned, and that is _final_."

Ginny glared at Hermione, she seethed at Hermione, she hated the older girl and everything she stood for, hard work and prudence and following the rules and doing what Harry said for the good of wizard kind, but all she did was whisper, "His name is Tom," before she stood up and started to toss things violently into her trunk. Hermione sighed, said some sort of reconciliation that Ginny was most vehemently not willing to accept, and left the room, leaving Elisa in an open doorway. The fifth year, shaking her head, sat on her bed and started chattering to Ginny about something or another. Ginny was too furious to think about what. Her trunk was packed in five minutes, and leaned against the wall with the other two.

Elisa started leaving the room, motioning for Ginny to follow, and, with the spirits of a forced labourer or a convicted felon being led into Azkaban, Ginny picked up her trunk and exited her dormitory. In the Great Hall, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were waiting, but she bypassed them and went instead to the Ravenclaw table where Luna was quietly studying, hoping vaguely for some support from a member of another house, as none of the Gryffindors were being forthcoming.

"Going home for the Holidays?" the Ravenclaw asked Ginny as she fell into a seat with more than a bit of a flounce. Luna didn't even look up from the book she was reading.

"Yeah, parents are forcing the matter. I don't want to," Ginny responded.

Luna shrugged lightly. "At least they have time for you – my father is busy on location looking for blue hinkypunks." She seemed to regard it with the same sort of calm indifference that she looked at everything else in the world, and Ginny wondered if she really was calmly indifferent or if it was a mask. Maybe she should be comforting the girl.

She couldn't do that, not in the mood she was in now. Instead, she just nodded slowly, and although Luna wasn't going to say anything more, apparently, Ginny felt that she couldn't just let the conversation stand there. "That's not the point, though. My parents don't want to see me; they want me away from school, what with Tom here. And Harry and Hermione and Ron are on their side completely – they don't trust a word that Dumbledore says about him, how he's not guilty of any of the horrible things they're accusing him of at all." Ginny looked down at the table, petulant and a little guilty. Luna was probably very upset – she couldn't really expect the other girl to pity her instead of think of her own problems, could she?

Luna didn't make eye contact with Ginny; she just sighed slightly and shook her head. That was a bad thing, Ginny decided, and was about to apologise when Luna spoke up again. "I'm sure Ronald has your best interests at heart, Ginny."

That was worse that she had expected, Ginny thought in silent rage. Was everyone here determined to gang up on her? Could no one believe that she was a competent adult? She tried to calm herself down, realising that it would do her no good to explode at Luna, especially when the other girl was in such a touchy mood as this one, but she found that she couldn't handle the situation as it was, couldn't face her friends when she felt so betrayed. She strode across the room to find a small alcove where no one would see her, and pulled the parchment from her pocket. Tom had written her a note, asking her what was wrong. She knew, at this point, that in her anger she had wrecked havoc on the ink again, and so she hardly had to ask why he knew she was upset. Instead she started writing. "Harry and Hermione and Ron are being wretched, Tom, they're making—"

But Elisa saw her across the hall and she rapidly folded the parchment and hid it before the other girl had gotten close enough to see what she was doing for certain. Ginny grumbled as Elisa pulled her away from the alcove and dragged her from the Great Hall, saying "We've got to hurry, Ginny, or we'll miss the Hogwarts Express!"

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were behind her, smiling at Elisa. Ginny felt sick to her stomach. If they just wanted someone who would do as they said, they could have Elisa – she felt certain that not a one of them actually cared for her, but for the idea of the last Weasley child, the only girl, some symbol of purity and innocence, like Ron had said.

Ginny felt not like a symbol of purity or innocence to be locked up in a white tower. She felt like the darkest and most wretched being on the face of the planet, and she was going to the deepest dungeon where the sun would never shine as she left the Great Hall and was dragged out of Hogwarts. She winced. Some adult she was making – unable to stand up to her brother and his friends, unable to assert her own personality at what she considered to be a crucial point. She yanked her wrist out of Ron's hand and stomped her foot down, stomping her foot and shouting "I'm not leaving Hogwarts!"

Unfortunately, or rather, fortunately, Tom was there and spoke over her rather infantile approach at making a stand against her brother's oppression. "I think it would be better for everyone involved if Ginevra stayed here over holidays," he said calmly, stepping from the doorway towards Harry and Ron.

Ron spluttered and Hermione was silent, leaving Harry to do the talking. "Why is that, Riddle?" he hissed, reaching for Ginny's arm, but she pulled it away. Harry whirled around to look at Ginny but Riddle was talking again and he spun back, looking slightly confused.

"She's horribly behind on her Potions work," Riddle said with a slight smile. "I wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't failing. Sending her home over Christmas would put her in even graver danger of flunking the class."

Ginny would have protested that that was false – she was doing better in Potions than she ever had before, but she thought better of it. Harry was glaring at Riddle furiously, ignoring her entirely now anyway, and she wasn't sure she wanted to change the situation. "I'm sure you and Snape have long discussions on the matter," he snapped, and Riddle winced visibly. Harry continued. "Being as there's no way for you to know what her marks in Potions are, I think that you should stop lying and get away from us."

Riddle took a step back, shocked, but gave a warning glance to Ginny that stopped her from shouting at Harry. Ron grabbed her wrist again and pulled her towards the doorway again. She pulled and tugged at it and finally said, "He's right, I need to work on my Potions marks," with as much calm as she could muster.

Ron stopped walking and turned back to face her. "Hermione will help you."

"Hermione will be here with you!" Ginny shouted, frustrated, "In case you've forgotten, you're not going home for the Holidays and neither is she, it's just me that mum wants to see. Doesn't it make you feel unloved that she could care less what her youngest son does, while she's so very worried about her only daughter?"

Ron froze in place, dropping Ginny's hand, and she could tell that Riddle was smiling behind her, but she didn't have time to think about it before Harry had swooped in and snatched up her wrist again. "Maybe it's a sign that she thinks Ron is old enough to take care of himself, whereas you are most adamantly not," he hissed, just loud enough for Ron and Ginny to hear, but it echoed in her head as though he had shouted it to fill the entire hall. She was numb with shock – how could Harry say a thing like that? How could Harry betray her like that, be so totally unfeeling and brutal as to say that to her? Her feet moved without intention, just following as Harry led her towards the door.

How could he, how dare he say something like that? A cold resolution was forming in her mind that he would pay for that comment, she didn't know when or how, but he would pay for it. But it appeared that he was winning. She was almost out of the door and Tom was doing nothing, after all that he was just going to let her go home over the holidays because Harry had made fun of Snape's new-found hatred for him? She was appalled, but she couldn't do anything, really. She wanted to throw a fit and hide in her dormitory, but Hermione would find her there and Tom's look had made her sure that the last thing he would have her do was throw a fit.

She was at the door, in a panic of confounded desires – the desire to stay at Hogwarts and discover what was going on with the parchment, the desire to please her family by returning home, the desire to show Ron up and get herself out of this situation and above all the desire not to have Harry dislocate her shoulder as it appeared he was trying to do, when Tom shouted something and the doors suddenly shut. A high pitched voice intoned above her head, mocking the Hogwarts students and their teachers, Harry and Dumbledore.

She felt the ground swell under her, and then everything went horribly black.

Tom had guessed at what was going on when Ginny complained of her brother and Harry, and had hurried out in hopes of catching her on her way out of the school, which was exactly what he did. Of course, all that meant that he saw the agony of all his plans nearly falling apart as Ginny fought against her brother in such a childish manner. That was no way to get out of it – if she had behaved like an adult and they might have trusted her, but as she insisted on continuing to act like a sullen teenager, it would be absurd to expect Ron or Harry to do anything but treat her like a child. Tom felt like screaming at her, knocking some sense into her thick skull. But now was not the time to talk to Ginny about her absurd behaviour. He stepped forward and confronted Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Or rather, Harry, because Hermione was sullenly silent – not fully in on the game, clearly, and Ron was tongue-tied as he generally got when faced with a situation that required finesse.

When all was said and done, he should have had a thicker skin and stood up to Harry's jab about Snape – but the very thought that the Slytherin house master preferred Harry Potter to his best student was a low blow to the Slytherin's pride, and what would Tom Riddle be without his pride? Ginny had put up a valiant fight and almost convinced them of the fact that she should stay, and in fact had it not been for Harry she would have certainly remained at Hogwarts for the holidays, but there he was swooping in and ruining Tom's plans yet again. After a while it certainly got frustrating. So they were leaving, again, and Tom had let them go, too shocked to put up much of a fight as Harry Potter led Ginny Weasley out the door and towards the horse-less chariots that would take her to the Hogwarts Express.

But Tom wouldn't let them win quite that easily. He shouted out, an entrancing enchantment, and Ginny stopped moving as Harry jumped backwards.

The doors in front of them slammed shut with an echoing boom. Tom was shocked at the result; he stumbled back as the walls resonated with the blow.

Ginny, however, remained absolutely motionless, her nose nearly touching the door, but not quite. A high pitched wail began and turned into a laugh, and still Ginny didn't move. The laugh was unnatural, scathing, it made the hairs on the back of Tom's neck stand up, set him on edge with the premonition of known evil. It was misery, torture, pain to hear that laugh, but it continued, and Ginny didn't move.

"Students of Hogwarts," said the voice, the painfully cruel and familiar voice, the voice the laugh belonged to, "Your school is beginning its fall on this very day." The laughter began again and it seemed like it would never stop, but it could only have been a moment before the voice began again. "Your pathetic heroes, your precious Boy Who Lived and your worshipped Headmaster, are soon to be no more, as are all the rest of the Mudbloods and blood traitors amid your ranks. There is no hope for them now, no hope from the fate that comes from their best intentions, their caution, and their pathetic and deluded wishes." The laughter rang out in the hall, it pierced Tom's head and he covered his ears to try and drive it out, to no avail. Ginny fell to the ground by the doorway, but Tom was in too much pain to do a thing. "Students of Hogwarts, your bastion of idiotic notions is soon to become a stronghold for the very forces your deluded Headmaster tried to fight during his life – his soon to be ended life. And you will be the ones to witness my glorious revolution first hand. Rightful students of Hogwarts, your school has a new master."

Harry was rushing towards him, grabbing his arm, pulling him away, and Tom didn't have time to think about where the boy was taking him. The voice had been like his, only twisted. The last thing he saw before he stopped looking and just followed Harry wherever the other boy was going was Ginny, still lying by the door, apparently forgotten by everyone in the school.


	23. Veritaserum

**Disclaimer**: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note**: This chapter is dedicated to Mango (I know you're still reading this) in honor of his birthday... which is either today or happened very recently. I'm not posting information like that online. Back to the chapter. It involves lots of angry questions, lots of arguments, and lots of irrational behavior on the part of Harry and Ron. Which makes it... not all that different from any of my other chapters, really.Thanks go to Fantome (simply wonderful to have you back!), Pixie (Hope I didn't keep it too long), Amazing, and EvilExpressions (when you say 'create more reviews' do you mean get friends to review – in which case, almost certainly yes – or come anonymously and repost the same revew multiple times – in which case, erm, no… But I'm glad to get any reviews at all from you so… right. On with the story.)

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 23: Veritaserum**

The lights flickered back on, or the dark ominous cloud that had filled the school while Voldemort was taunting the students filtered away, as Harry pulled Tom Riddle through the hallways. He didn't bother to look back and see if Ginny was all right, all his thought was bent on gettingRiddle into Gryffindor before anyone noticed. Allowing a Slytherin entrance into their house was certainly not within school regulations and certainly not something he wanted anyone to know he was doing. He reached the Fat Lady and cast Tom a foul glance before shouting the password up at her and pulling Tom through the portrait.

"Where the bloody hell are you taking me?" asked the Slytherin.

"To my dormitory," Harry responded simply.

Tom pulled his hand out of Harry's grip and stopped in the middle of the Gryffindor common room to stare at the other boy. "To your dormitory? And what weapons of torture do you have in there?" he asked laughingly, only partially because the only time he had heard of someone being dragged up the stairs to a Gryffindors dormitory was in his second year, when three seventh year Gryffindors, after a night of drinkingmore than their share of firewhisky, had drugged and had their way with one of their female housemates. The thought of Harry trying to do that to him, with neither a drug nor firewhisky, was laughable.

Harry's gaze was as cold as ice and as deadly as a quick killing curse. "If I were in your position I would not be laughing, Tom," he said angrily. "Unless you're so proud of your little trick back there that you're bloated from the bragging."

Tom blinked. "You think I made that happen, the slamming of the doors and the laughter," he whispered, shocked. That thought had not even entered his mind.

"And what am I supposed to think? I heard you – you cast a spell to make it all begin, some sort of charm just before the doors slammed shut!" Harry had grabbed his hand again and was pulling him up the stairs. Tom didn't fight, he was so shocked. The very thought of doing that – being able to do that, really, with a spell as simple as an Entrancing Enchantment, well, it was tempting to claim that much power to say the least, but Tom decided against that move as it would probably prove fatal to him in the end to egg Harry on like that. Those three boys hadn't even been expelled, Tom remarked to himself – one never knew what Gryffindors were capable of and would get away with.

Harry slammed the door shut and Tom stood in the centre of the room while Harry rummaged through his trunk to find something. "You will tell no one about this, Tom. This is our little secret, and if I find out that you ratted on me, you will not be pleased with the result, I can tell you that much." Harry glanced over his shoulder to confirm what he said, and his eyes held so much hatred that Tom decided it probably was in his best interest after all to comply with Harry's demand.

"Fine," he said shortly.

Harry turned back to rummaging and soon pulled out a vial full of clear, watery liquid. Tom recognised it easily, the Veritaserum, or at least one of the preparations. If it was Harry's, it probably wouldn't work. "I repeat," Harry said, "You will tell no one."

Tom was tired of this. In a fit of frustration he snatched the vial out of Harry's hand and said "I already agreed," before downing it in one gulp. He was tired of having Harry doubt him, he was tired of having everyone hate him, and he was especially tired of Harry repeating himself needlessly. But the sensation of floating nearly took him off his feet, and he found himself stumbling back onto someone's bed before he realised that, should any of the Gryffindors come in, it would perhaps be wise not to be sitting on any of their beds. He then realised that he didn't really care, it didn't really matter anyway, and to hell with all Gryffindors and their beds.

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

That one was simple. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, son of Tom Noel Riddle and Circe Orobourus Marvolo," he said calmly. The potion must have been his – he found he didn't mind the name of his traitorous father sitting beside the name of his mother in a sentence anymore. Or at least, not for the moment.

Harry, however, had no reaction to the statement. "Are you Lord Voldemort?" came the next question swiftly.

Honestly, Tom would have answered that anyway. "No. I hadn't heard of Lord Voldemort until I started writing in that blasted Diary – Ginny's Diary – last year. Or rather, some years ago, but it must have been last year for me, as I remember it. Lord Voldemort might say that he's me - and he might be telling the truth, but I am most adamantly not Lord Voldemort. The Diary stole my identity, or something like that, twisted it or some such. It's all very hard to explain."

Harry nodded slowly, a bit shocked, and paused before his next question. "Why are you here?"

"Here as in the sense of your dormitory? Because you dragged me here to question me under Veritaserum, I imagine, which boils down to your hatred and fear of me, which probably has a lot to do with the fact that I was responsible for Ginny's near death, Hermione's petrifaction, and the rampaging murderer that seems to have been out to kill you from the day you were born, killed your parents, and attempts to overthrow Hogwarts and the rest of the wizarding world every year since you've gotten to school." Harry looked shocked, appalled, and almost sickened, but Tom found he didn't care. "Here as in at Hogwarts? To finish my school training so I can get a job – I've been thinking of becoming an Auror ever since I fought with Voldemort that last time, but before that I wanted to become a lawyer or a politician so I'm not altogether sure – I suppose I'll end up in the latter, I'm really much better suited for something like that. But then again, I'm sure you would have much to say against my becoming an Auror, you have 'Auror-in-training' written all over you and there's certainly no love lost between us, I daresay. But in another way, I've never really left Hogwarts, see, I just slept in the Chamber of Secrets – which is arguably part of Hogwarts – since the end of my fifth year so it's not a question of why am I here, really, but rather why haven't I left, and that really does hinge around the fact that there was that insane future-Diary-thing that called itself Voldemort and tried to kill me at the end of my fifth year, which in turn hinges around the fact that, again, I am responsible for Ginny's near death and Myrtle's demise, a few people's petrifaction, and the unleashing of an inhuman psychopath on the wizards of the world." Here Tom paused to take a breath. He wouldn't have told this to anyone, but it felt surprisingly good to tell Harry, even though he was sure Harry didn't really care and was just waiting for him to say something akin to 'I am here to take over the school' although Harry was certainly going to be disappointed in that respect. He said as much.

Harry looked shell-shocked, and Tom continued talking, as the potion was only just kicking in full force and the flow of the words was really becoming very appealing to Tom. He didn't so much as care who was listening now – bring in Malfoy and Snape and Dumbledore and every last despicable Gryffindor in the school, he didn't care – he was telling the truth, dammit, and that was a huge relief. Not that he had been lying before, but the feeling of release now was so great that he felt like laughing, like running for joy, only in a more sedated and calm way than he ever had run for joy or laughed before. He was talking, he believed, about why he was here, as in existing, and why the entire human race was here, when Harry interrupted him.

"So you don't have any plans to take over the school and kill me, then?"

"No, certainly not," Tom said. "I mean, even if I am responsible for all that that happened your second year, I certainly didn't do it out of malice and to be brutally honest the only reason I dislike you is your stubborn decision to go against the will of Dumbledore and decide that I am evil after all, even though when truth be told I'm quite simply not."

"If you're not evil, how are you responsible for what happened my second year?"

"I started writing to Ginny Weasley in the beginning of my fifth year and by the time I realised what was going on in reality I couldn't stop writing, it was joy, a connection to wizard-kind in the hellish orphanage and a connection to innocence and joy when I was trapped in a prejudiced Slytherin house ready for a new Dark Lord after Grindelwald. It was also nice that someone didn't care about my heritage – I'd never met anyone who didn't hate me because my father was such a cad or because he was a Muggle, in short, to hear someone look at my story with frank pity was enough of an allure that all the enchantments around the Diary to get people to keep writing were unnecessary for me. But I should have stopped writing when I found out what was going on, I should have stopped Ginny from writing, I was the older and wiser of the two of us, being a fifth year, there had to have been something I could have done that would have stopped Voldemort before he began. Or maybe if I had killed him thoroughly at the end of my fifth year, but you don't understand how uncanny it is fighting someone who says he's you – someone who looks like your identical twin, like your reflection in the mirror. I know you know what it's like to fight someone who's more powerful than you, someone who you have no hope of beating – and I know you would probably have fared much better than I did in that fight, but it's so uncanny when defeating your enemy is synonymous with defeating yourself."

They were both silent for a while, then, Tom because no question had been asked, and Harry because he was too shocked with Tom's response to formulate another. It was at that moment that Ron burst in.

"What, in Merlin's name, are you doing on my bed? And what are you doing with my sister?" he shouted when he saw Riddle.

Harry laughed as Riddle answered, quite frankly, "I fell onto your bed because of the potion that Harry gave me – Veritaserum has a way of knocking the wind out of you, you see. It makes your knees all wobbly so I had to sit down. Currently, I am doing nothing with your sister, as she is noticeably not here. I imagine it would be rather difficult for me to be doing anything with your sister. In general, though, I am helping her with her potions and trying to figure out why she doesn't hate me as you do although she undoubtedly thinks I am evil just as you do, deny it as she might. I'm sorry to say that no, I'm not trying to corrupt your darling little sister to the cause of evil, which would be counter to my interests in general as Harry can tell you, nor am I having any sort of sordid affair with her involving sex in the library, although I'm sure you would have found that much more interesting and probably good cause to murder me with your bare hands, which is clearly what you want to do just now regardless of my answer."

Ron looked blankly at a laughing Harry. "You gave him the Veritaserum?" he asked.

Harry nodded. Ron looked about to faint, but instead said, "Get the hell off of my bed, Riddle," before falling into it himself. "What are we going to do with him?" he asked Harry at length.

"I don't know – when does Veritaserum wear off?"

Ron shrugged but Tom answered quickly, "It depends on how much was in that vial – Veritaserum lasts approximately thirty minutes per millilitre when it's brewed correctly, but there was hardly enough time to get a passable mix during class, so it's somewhere between five and ten minutes per millilitre, my best guess. I'm surprised you two don't know that much, it was written in the book."

"How much was in there?" Ron asked Harry, ignoring Tom completely. The Slytherin had been removed to Seamus' bed.

"Not much – couple of mils?"

"That means we have ten or twenty minutes with him," Ron said. "How long ago did you give him the serum?"

"About seven minutes ago by the clock above that bed," Tom answered.

Ron scowled.

"It's clear that he can't stay here for that long," Ron said.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because… someone might come in and he would scare them half to death." Harry continued to stare at his best friend until Ron gave him quite a different answer. "Because Ginny might be back any minute and I don't want her to see him."

Harry just shook his head. "Look, Ron, there's no way around it unless you want him to go blabbing the Gryffindor password and everything that just happened to everyone in the school. He's got to stay here until the potion wears off."

Ron looked very unhappy with this turn of events, but didn't protest further. "What are you going to do about You-Know-Who, Harry," he asked softly.

"I don't know – generally trouble searches me out, I wouldn't know where to start looking, really." He paused. "Well, I suppose that's false. I would check the chamber of secrets first." Quickly he turned to Riddle. "Can you speak parseltoungue?" he asked.

"No," Riddle said simply. "Although I hear that that's a mark of a dark wizard – do you have to speak it to get into the chamber?"

Harry nodded. "Unless there's another way."

"Well, Dumbledore's taken out the sink that was attached to the tunnel, Ginny went down into the chamber her first day back."

Ron looked amazed. "Ginny went into the chamber out of choice? Why?"

"Yes, and to tie up some loose ends, if you trust what she said."

"How do you know?" Harry asked Tom guardedly.

"I saw her, got her out of a lot of trouble too by not telling anyone."

"What were you doing there?"

"I was thinking of doing the same thing myself, honestly. But the cords around the door have a protection spell on them – you can get in but not out – and I went to the library to research the counter-spell. I was just getting back when I saw Ginny leaving, or trying to leave. It's really an amusing sight; the spell tosses you back into the chamber, see, but the door was closed behind her so it just slammed her into the door. She wasn't hurt, don't worry, but it was certainly amusing."

Harry just shook his head but Ron looked ready to kill someone, probably Tom. "How long has it been now, Harry?" he asked after an awkward silence.

"Twelve minutes," Harry answered softly. They looked towards Tom, who was slowly losing the blank and rather dreamy look on his face and turning back to normal, and then they looked back at each other.

Tom pierced them both with an utterly tired look. "Are you satisfied that I'm not evil yet?" he asked at length.

"We'll be changing the Gryffindor house password, you know," Ron said.

"And we still don't really trust you," Harry added.

"But that will do for now," Ron finished.

Tom was ready to explode. "Still don't really trust me? If you find a way to lie under Veritaserum, please tell me, Mr. Potter, because in the thousand years since its development no one has ever been able to do so. And trust me on this, Mr. Weasley, stronger and more powerful wizards than I have been put under its sway. So if there's something you want to tell me that would give credence to your charges then please do elucidate, but as such I do believe that you are being entirely unreasonable in your assessment."

Harry stared him down, and said coldly, "You will be so kind as to leave, Mr. Riddle."

Tom, slowly and proudly, left the sixth year Gryffindor boys' dormitory, but stayed in the common room. If Ron was worried about him seeing Ginny, he was certainly going to do everything in his power to make sure that that came to pass.


	24. Dazed and Confused

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know you all think it's strange for Ron and Harry to both leave Ginny, but Harry was in a fit of fury and going after Voldemort, and Ron did stay a bit longer – it's all explained here. Thanks go to ray1, Lady Lestrange (neither Harry nor Ron is thinking too logically at the moment when it happens – they're both totally shocked that Tom didn't confess to all the horrible things he's planning. And they're used to the complacent, obedient Veritaserum!Tom.), Amazing, and Sarcasma (Chapter 22 wasn't really filler – the Voldemort speech at the end is quite important. But I do like chapters 23 and 24 better, possibly because they do more character-building.) Also, this might be the last chapter in a while (as my beta reader has still not gotten back to me).

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 24: Dazed and Confused**

When Ginny opened her eyes she was still in the entry hall of Hogwarts, her trunk by her side, and she slowly stood up and leaned on it heavily, looking around. The hall was deserted, except for Hermione who stood behind her, very much like a mother hen. "What happened?" Ginny asked blearily.

"You fell into a faint and Harry went running towards Tom – I have no idea where he went. I sent Ron off to find Harry and said I'd stay with you." The older girl approached Ginny and grasped her hand in what was supposed to be a supportive way. "Everything will be alright, Ginny. I can understand if you're scared, of course, but just know that. Harry, Ron, and I will look out for you – we'll take care of everything."

Ginny turned to see the older girl smiling down at her in sugary sweetness. She blinked slowly, trying to place Hermione's sickening support in the realm of reason. This was a hard task considering that her vision continually blurred to the point she could barely make out her friend's face from her mass of hair. _Focus, _she told herself. "Hermione," she asked, "Forgive me for saying this, but if You-Know-Who has really gotten back into the school, wouldn't you, as a muggle-born student, be in a considerable amount more danger than I, as a pureblooded witch?"

Hermione looked stung, and dropped Ginny's hand. "I never thought of it that way, Ginny. Surely Voldemort must want to destroy your family as much as Muggle-born students," she said, but Ginny could tell from her eyes that the girl was attempting to persuade herself as much as she was making a statement of fact. She allowed herself a brief moment of pride before noting that her vision wasn't getting better, and her head was very close to splitting open.

"No, actually, I think that You-Know-Who would accept Weasleys into his ranks, if they wanted to join up. That's what we were all afraid of with Percy – that he had become a Death Eater, betrayed us all and the like. Really, I don't think He has anything against Weasleys, except that we are generally friends with Muggle-born witches and wizards. Blood-traitors, you know."

Hermione paled slightly for a moment, but quickly regained her composure and smiled down at Ginny. "Even so, don't you worry about me, Ginny. I can take care of myself."

Ginny took a deep breath. There was a red splotch right in front of Hermione's face, and what the girl was saying was absolutely repulsive. This couldn't be happening. "So can I," she muttered. "You can go away now, Hermione, I'm not dead."

"But, Ginny, you've just had a fainting spell and hit your head and possibly had a concussion or something, you should go to the hospital wing, you need someone to watch you in case you faint again – and after all, you're an awful lot younger than me – a year is a long time at our age – and I've had a terrible amount more experience in this sort of thing."

Ginny tried counting to ten in her head. It didn't work. Her head was getting worse. "This sort of thing being defying You-Know-Who when he finds a way into the school and starts writing messages up on the wall? No, I think it was me who held him off for a year that time. You're right about one thing – a year is a long, long time at our age. And four years is an even longer time. I think I can handle myself, Hermione. Thank you for your," here she paused, wondering exactly how acerbic she wanted to be, "_kind _support," she settled on.

Hermione stuttered for a moment, and looked rather frightened. "Surely I can help you, Ginny," she said, a slight bit panicked.

"No," Ginny answered. "You can't. Get away, Hermione."

"But, Ginny,"

"I can take care of myself."

And, with that, Hermione left. Ginny fell onto her trunk, her legs giving out under her. Hermione had been right about something else as well, Ginny was probably in no state to walk up to the Gryffindor Tower alone. But Ginny wouldn't believe that, wouldn't let herself believe that. She was a grown woman and could take care of herself. She didn't need Hermione Granger to babysit her.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled out her wand and enchanted her trunk to float after her as she climbed the stairs back to the Gryffindor Tower. She remembered the doors flying shut and a voice coming up above the rumbling aftershock, but nothing clearly and nothing afterwards. She vaguely remembered the feel of an impact on her forehead. She supposed that the faint had come at just the right moment to disrupt her memory of the event, and she supposed that the event probably had no small amount to do with her fainting, but she decided to disregard that – she was Ginny Weasley, she was strong and impetuous, she would not faint straight away on account of a darkened hall and the voice of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

She was in a daze as she walked through the hallways and climbed the stairs, she was in a daze that no one and nothing seemed to break, not even when she lost her trunk, and it slipped down two flights of stairs before she stopped it, shouting "Accio trunk!" with so much force that the trunk in turn sped back up the stairs and knocked her over. It was a severe blow to the head and she thought vaguely that perhaps she should see Madame Pomfrey about it, but it never occurred to her to actually go to the hospital wing about it instead of heading stalwartly back up to the Gryffindor Tower. Her vision started doing even more strange things, swirls and dots in the middle of her vision, occasionally a black curtain that she had to fight back and force to disappear. She would be fine, she decided. She thought vaguely that, at a time like this, Hermione would be particularly helpful, but she didn't let her traitorious thoughts lend themselves to actions, such as shouting for Hermione, who must be only a short ways ahead.

The way was long, but eventually she reached the Gryffindor Tower, even in her foggy state. She faced the portrait of the Fat Lady for what must have been thirty seconds before she realised that the old woman had already asked for the password and she said it hurriedly. Wandering into the common room with a bit more focus than she had been able to summon so far, but not much.

One would have thought, however, that even given her rather strange daze she would have started at the sight of Tom Riddle, sitting calmly and confidently in one of the poufs by the fireplace, for all appearances waiting for her. Ginny wasn't sure if it was the blow to the head or her general unawareness of whatever was going on around her, but she didn't even look at him twice, just walked past him, trailing her trunk, up to her room.

"Ginny!" he said, however, and she was forced to turn around. She squinted. Surely he shouldn't be here, she thought vaguely. Maybe her vision was doing even stranger things now, she thought, but no, it had always been vague shapes, not straight-up hallucinations. That wasn't it. But still, surely something was strange here.

"Why are you here?" she asked, slowly, puzzled.

"Harry let me in," he answered, scanning her face. He was looking for something, that much she knew, but she wasn't sure what it was. His answer didn't make sense – Harry hated Tom, that much was true.

"Why did he do that?" Ginny asked, wandering slowly towards the chair Tom was currently occupying.

"Do you really care?" Tom asked, having seen whatever it was he was looking for in her face.

"Not really," she admitted. "Just curious, I suppose."

"You've taken a blow to the head," Tom said coolly. It wasn't a question but a statement – perhaps that was what he had seen in her face. He was asking for an explanation.

"I knocked my head on a stair on the way up here," Ginny responded. "Or maybe it was when I fell down." She realised she couldn't remember with a bit of surprise. But it was nothing to be too shocked about, when all was said and done.

Tom smirked. Ginny wondered if she had ever seen Tom smirk quite like that before, but she didn't really care one way or another. She felt like yawning, but couldn't. A yawn summarised how she felt perfectly, fuzzy and tired. Her brain wasn't working particularly quickly, it felt like cotton gauze instead of a brain. Cotton gauze with jackhammers, because her head was pounding.

"Sit down," Tom said, that smirk not moving from his lips, but she didn't question that, she just complied, falling into a seat nearby. Her vision was returning to normal, maybe. At least, there were no more splotches. "You should see a healer about your head," he said.

"I will," she answered. "I'll go tomorrow morning." Her head was, after all, better now than it had been in a while. "It hurts." Tom said nothing for a while and Ginny was forced to speak up again. "Why did Harry let you in here? He hates you."

"You said you didn't care."

"I didn't," she said, the blur of her vision going away and being replaced by a familiar blur of exhaustion and drowsiness. Color was returning, too, brighter than ever before. "But I do now." Surely that was the fall, the faint. She felt like she had never seen anything so bright and red as the common room before, as though all the red she had ever known was not nearly as red as the chair she was sitting in just now. "And why didn't Hermione toss you out when she got up here?"

"He wanted to question me. And I haven't seen Granger."

"And?" The world was coming back to itself. She could hear the sharp crackle of the fire place and the creaks and groans of the floorboards as people walked to and fro upstairs. She wondered that no one else was in the common room. "Why couldn't he have questioned you somewhere else?"

"It's none of your business, the point is that I'm here," he said sharply, as though she had insulted him. She just blinked, not really feeling the need to flinch in fear. In her new, sharper, vision, he looked like just any other boy she knew and she wondered why she had been so afraid of him before.

"It is my business, because you were waiting for me," she said calmly. "Why were you waiting for me?"

"How do you know I was?"

"Why else would you be waiting in the Gryffindor Common Room?"

Tom frowned for a moment and then just smiled. "All right then, I was waiting for you." Ginny stared at him calmly, trying to find in his face whatever it was he had found in hers, but she had no idea what that was and whatever it happened to be she couldn't find it in the cool, composed face of Tom Riddle sitting across from her. But she remained silent and he continued his explanation. "Your brother didn't want me to."

"So this is all a very elaborate way to get on Ron's nerves?" Ginny asked calmly.

"Partially."

"And?"

"I want to know if the hex I used worked," Tom added.

Ginny suddenly felt her stomach drop with more than a bit of fear. "Did it?"

"Yes," said Tom with a bigger smirk. "In fact, it did."

That must have been what he was searching her face for when she came in, evidence that his spell had worked – so was her dazed state a result of the spell and not her fall? Her head throbbed with a sharp pain and she sighed. "My head hurts," she commented.

"You should go down to Madame Pomfrey," Tom replied quickly.

"No, it's too many stairs – I'll probably fall. I'll wait until morning and then go," Ginny insisted.

"Your brother and Harry would have you go," Tom added quietly.

Ginny stared up at him. "What the bloody hell do you care what my brother and Harry would have me do? I'm not some kind of china doll, Tom, if I were in serious danger I wouldn't be sitting here, I'd be in the hospital wing, of my own volition, without anyone else needing to coax me or cajole me or help me to get down there. It's that simple."

Tom stared her down, doubt in his face. "Look, Tom," she added, frustrated with the entire situation just then, "I'm sorry if I've been acting childish lately, and I know you think I have, but it's hard to behave like an adult if people won't give me the chance – Harry and Ron and Hermione and them are all out to protect me from myself and I can't convince them that I'm competent so how am I going to actually get anywhere with this? What's even the point of being an adult if no one trusts me or believes me anyway? I'll always be the youngest Weasley, no matter what I do, I'll always be treated like a little child, Tom."

He stared at her coldly. "You do realise how childish you sound right now," he said, and tears were in her eyes. This was altogether too much for her to take – even he thought she was a small child.

"You don't understand how frustrating that is – all last year I was the one behaving like an adult and Harry the one throwing petulant tantrums, I was the one who helped Hermione convince Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to join the DA and help to fight You-Know-Who despite Umbridge, I was the one who snapped Harry out of his weird funks, the one who got him to smile and stop acting as though the world was falling down around us, not my idiotic brother who could only flounder about and talk about Quidditch nervously, or Hermione who regarded – still regards – a Harry's mood swings like changes in weather. I was the one who took care of that." She was crying outright now, she couldn't hold it in any longer.

"And how did he repay me?" she said between sobs, but shook her head and got her emotions under control again. "He tries to stop me from coming and helping him in the Department of Mysteries. He and my lousy brother, who thinks I can be broken like a twig! Well guess what, I got out of that with less injury than Ron, or Hermione, the ones who Harry accepted quickly. But that doesn't mean I can take care of myself, oh no." She stood up quickly, rubbing the tears out of her face. "I was the one who got over my silly crush because it was stupid and immature, who took up the seeker's position knowing that I would give it up again and whatever minuscule amount of glory I could have compared to Harry bloody Potter would be forfeit at the beginning of the next year but smiled and commiserated with him about his loss anyway, the one who sent Harry an owl instead of continuing to argue with the Order about where we would bloody find him, and how am I treated? They want to take me out of Hogwarts because you show up!"

Tom was silent, but his face had softened somewhat. Ginny, however, was past caring. "And so you can go on about how immature I'm being right now, but since actually being mature doesn't help me more than giggling like a fucking twelve year old and sticking my elbow in the butter dish, since people will call me the little baby girl whatever I do, I think I'll throw tantrums when I feel like throwing tantrums, I'll scream when I feel like screaming, and I'll sulk in my room when I feel like sulking. It's not as though it makes a damn bit of difference anyway, I'm just Ginny Weasley and they'll always think I'm some sort of damsel in distress, waiting in my white tower for someone to rescue me anyway."

She turned to leave, tears now streaming down her face, and she added, "Get the hell out of my common room, Tom."

"Ginny, wait," he commanded, and, tired, she turned around. "You could always act the adult for yourself alone, and no one else."

She laughed hollowly. "That's rich, coming from you – you're always playing a part, Tom, and don't think I don't know it. It's all worthless to you unless it gets you something. Why don't you take your own advice?"

Tom appeared stunned. "What are you talking about?"

Ginny shook her head. "I knew you before this year, Tom. I trusted you before this year. I can't do that again, you know, right?" She looked terrified again, almost ready to cry again. "I don't know why you came back now, but if it has anything to do with me then you'll just have to… I don't know, disappear again or something because everything would be so much easier if you weren't here." She was exhausted, her head hurt, the vision problems were coming back, and she was not in the mood to be told to play the good little girl by Tom Riddle.

And then he did something entirely unheard of, something wholly against any conception of his character that Ginny had, something neither slickly seductive nor cleverly evil nor contemptuously contradictory. He said "No," slightly angrily, and he grabbed her wrist before she could leave. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. What are you talking about?"

She sighed. "I know you have an ulterior motive for every sentence you say to me. I'm not stupid. I'm not naïve anymore, or at least not as naïve as I was my first year. You can't fool me so easily. I know you're out to get something and that's the only reason you befriended me or anything, but I don't know what it is yet. That doesn't mean it's not there."

He shook his head. "And if I say I don't?"

"Of course you say that, Tom. You said you were my friend first year, when you were plotting to kill me and Harry. Of course you say you don't have an ulterior motive."

He laughed. "Do I have to drink Veritaserum for you too, now?"

She blinked. "So that's what Harry wanted – when you said illegal methods I thought you meant torture or something horrible. So it was just Veritaserum," she sighed. "That's a relief." She paused before adding, "I don't know if I'd trust you even if you drank Veritaserum, Tom. I don't put it beyond you to not be effected by the stuff. If anyone would be immune to it, it seems that it would be you."

"Why?" Tom asked, frowning severely. "Why would I be immune to Veritaserum?"

"You're the liar, the seducer, the one everyone wants to believe but shouldn't. That's who you are – it's undeniable that your greatest weapon is the lie, Tom. So if anyone could defy Veritaserum and continue to lie, it would be you, because your very essence is a lie."

"You don't know that," he insisted.

"Yes, yes I do," she said calmly. "I knew you first year. You betrayed me. That's undeniable."

"If you're so sure I betrayed you your first year, why aren't you siding with Harry and Ron, avoiding me, calling me out to Dumbledore as evil incarnate, trying to get me sent to Azkaban?"

Ginny smiled a bit at that, but it was weak because she was so very tired. "I knew Dumbledore wouldn't believe me, whatever I said. And I wanted to believe that you were good, but I can't. You don't understand what that's like – I didn't pop out of the diary, you did. What was I supposed to think, what am I supposed to think?"

Tom just shook his head. "Nothing. You were supposed to believe me."

"I can't just do that, Tom. You should know that. I can't just believe you when everything in my being shouts the opposite." She smiled a little bit before adding, "That would be childish and naïve, I'm not that gullible."

He laughed. "I know. You're just full of surprises, really." He paused and it looked like he was going to hug her or do something else entirely impetuous and un-Tom, but he didn't. "How can I prove to you that I'm telling the truth?"

"You can't," Ginny said softly. "I have to prove that to myself."

She wondered if she should hug him before heading up to her room. She decided against it and just turned away and, waving her wand vaguely to make her trunk follow her again, climbed the stairs wearily. "Promise me," he called after her, "That you'll go down to Madame Pomfrey if your head still hurts in the morning."

"Of course," she answered with no small amount of frustration – now he was babying her as well. "I can take care of myself, Tom. You don't have to father me."

He laughed. "I'm not fathering you, Ginevra," he said, before leaving.

Well, that was certainly interesting, he thought to himself. But there was a chance that Ginny would begin to behave like an adult again; she had by the end of the conversation, so there was hope in that front. And he was somewhat closer to picking apart her rather interesting psyche. Or perhaps somewhat father away. The two appeared to be somewhat strangely synonymous.

When he got to the Slytherin Dungeons, his housemates were all asleep. He flattened his parchment on a nearby desk with the thought that he would write on it and see if Ginny had fallen asleep yet, or perhaps give her a warning for the next day – to be sure and see Madame Pomfrey – but he decided against it at the last minute and simply went to sleep. He had a strange premonition that tomorrow would be a very long day.


	25. What the hell was that?

Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

Author's Note: We interrupt this fanfic to bring… a chapter that is mostly useless but for the fact that it builds character and I wanted one that didn't involve life-threatening danger after the last few. Don't worry, it's all downhill from here, no more questions – only answers. But those come slowly, I suppose.

Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 25: What the Bloody Hell Was That?

Tom awoke the next day to the sound of a quill scratching against a parchment. Yawning a bit he looked over to see Draco Malfoy bent over his desk, apparently thinking very hard about what he was writing. The blonde boy stopped writing, sat back in his chair, and wondered aloud; "Do you think she'd rather hear that the weather is superb for midwinter or that the mudbloods live in constant fear of being killed?" he asked the air.

"I'd go with the weather, the thought of killing doesn't sound too savory to me, not the kind of thing a woman would enjoy," Tom answered snidely. Draco spun around in his chair and glared at his housemate.

"I'd keep my thoughts to myself, if I were you. If I wanted advice I'd ask for it."

"But you did ask, Draco," Tom said with a smile, as falsely kind as he could make it. "I was only trying to help, after all."

Draco turned back to the parchment before adding, "I took some of your parchment, as mine was all packed into my trunk. I hope you don't mind – or rather, I don't much care either way but my parents taught me to be polite to my housemates."

Tom felt a cold stone forming in the pit of his stomach. If Draco was writing this letter on the parchment that Tom thought he was using, well, he certainly did mind. "Where did you find it?" Tom asked cautiously, knowing far too well the answer.

"It was just lying on your desk – if it was really important you would have hid it somewhere, or you should have, but knowing you, Marvolo, you'd be idiotic enough to leave it out."

Tom shook his head and moved to stand behind Draco. "I don't think you should be using that parchment, Malfoy," he began, as the words at the top of the page began to disappear. "_Mother,_" Ginny must have been reading, "_I am sorry to inform you that I will not be returning to the manor for the Winter Holidays. However, as there is always good news to accompany the bad news, it was our most esteemed Dark Lord who closed the doors upon the leaving students. He left a personal message saying that Dumbledore, that great oaf, will fall within the year, along with Scarhead and his friends. I eagerly look forward to seeing firsthand the power of the Dark Lord, and although I regret that I will not be able to see you for the holidays you will admit that I am very lucky not to have left – or I would certainly not have been witness to our Lord's great victory._"He felt he was breaking into a cold sweat, but the only outward sign of his fear was his slowly blinking eyes. "_In other news, the weather continues as it was – we had quite a mild and long fall and the temperature has hardly dipped below freezing. Snow covers the castle, however, and the grounds are picturesque in their beauty, although nowhere near approaching the grandeur and scale of the Manor in winter, of course. Thank you for the sweets you sent with your last message, although if you continue to send them I will surely lose my physique for Quidditch. Do you want your son to grow a pot-belly, mother? I thought not. The fat-reducing ones are only twice as expensive, and you know I vastly prefer them._" Draco, himself, watched in paralyzed confusion and interest as every last word disappeared from the page. "Something like this might happen," Tom muttered, more to himself than Malfoy. He prayed that Ginny figured out what was going on.

For a long time, the parchment was blank. Draco stared at it for a few minutes, and then picked up the quill to begin writing again. "_Hello?_" he asked the parchment, and it too disappeared.

"_Tom? Is that you? What's going on?_" Came Ginny's slow, cautious reply. Soon it too disappeared and nothing more appeared. A mischevious grin came upon the blonde boy's face that Tom could sense from behind him, without even having to see his face. Tom tried to continue to breathe, but it was a very difficult proposition.

"_Oh, sorry there, I just wrote on the wrong parchment on accident. I was writing home to mother, although I suppose you know that by now._" He sniggered. Tom winced.

The ink sank into the parchment, disappearing almost apologetically to Tom's eyes. Ginny had to know he was an orphan, that this game wouldn't work. He willed for her not to give away her identity. Tom held his breath and Draco fidgeted in his seat, twisting and turning to try and see Tom's face, but without standing up, he couldn't. Finally Malfoy swallowed his pride and jumped from his chair, turning on Tom and slurring, "What the hell is going on?"

But Tom just watched, entranced, as a very familiar, curved hand started writing on the parchment. Ginny was responding. Draco followed his line of sight and gasped when he saw the message on the parchment, his normally pale face turning even paler in shock. "_Well, I don't know what you're trying to play by calling me your mother (honestly now, that would just be kinky, darling) or by pretending to write to her – I know how you despise the beast, but I think I've found the answer to your questions – you know how he was the head of the 'Inquisitorial Squad' towards the end of last year? Well, they almost caught Potter and a bunch of his friends, but the Gryffindors got away from him. I hear the youngest Weasley girl got him in the face with a wicked Bat Bogey hex, his complexion was off for a week. Can you imagine the shame? Little, innocent Ginny Weasley hitting you square in the face with a Bat Bogey hex that sends you crying to mummy dearest!_"

Tom couldn't help but laugh, slightly, to see Ginny's comments. Judging by Malfoy's reactions to them, they were probably true. He laughed a bit harder at that, but it didn't take long for Malfoy to come to his senses and turn on him, so he made sure to be across the room in case of that eventuality. "I repeat," Malfoy said, approaching him steelily, "who the bloody hell is this tart, and what the bloody hell is going on?"

Tom just laughed. "I picked it up off of some Ravenclaw I saw meddling with it in the hallways – no magic in the corridors and what not – and I've been trying to figure out who it leads to. Of course, whoever it is probably figured it was you with your Quidditch comments, infantile pride, and the fact that there aren't any other sixth years that would still be getting sweets from their mother."

Draco's formerly abnormally pale face was now red with fury. "You're lying, Marvolo. I know you're lying and it's time for you to tell me the truth. What the hell is that?"

"I'm telling the bleeding truth, Malfoy," Tom snapped, and rolled his eyes. "The fact that you can't accept the idea of anyone but a Gryffindor putting you down like that is your own business, not mine. I've been telling the truth since I got here."

Draco shook his head. "That's not true, Marvolo – Snape has told me as much, that Ophicus Serpens Marvolo isn't your real name at all, but he won't tell me what it is. You're a dirty liar and you have been from the first day I met you. But you're turning a new leaf over, at least in regards to me. From now on you tell me the truth. Or perhaps you want the rest of the school to know that you've been lying as well, eh? Now what's going on with that parchment?" After a pause he added, in a sick, sinister drawl, "And who's the tart you've been meeting?" He laughed. "I can't imagine anyone whose standards are so low they'd take you."

Tom didn't have to fake his slight look of fear, or the appalled disgust at the idea of Malfoy's comments being applied to Ginny, or the strange half-desire to forget all about being a wizard and pummel the other boy where he stood, but the crestfallen submission was something he worked hard at. He hoped Draco bought it, but the fact was that Malfoy didn't have a thing he could use to blackmail Tom with. The boy didn't know enough to tell anyone who mattered – and in any case, the people who were likely to have the most painful reactions – Potter and his acolytes, Dumbledore, apparently Snape as well – knew the truth, or at least they certainly knew more than Malfoy did, and so long as that remained the case everything was fine in Tom's book. (Well, not exactly fine, he allowed, but certainly not something to be overly concerned of blackmail about.) Like it or not, Dumbledore was headmaster as well as being a Gryffindor-favoring, soft, and slightly mad old codger, and like it or not, what went with being Gryffindor was being chivalrous and what went with being soft was being obscenely forgiving. That was probably Dumbledore's weakness, Tom thought, that he was so chivalrous and forgiving he'd give Lucifer a second chance if he thought it might help him make a new life for himself. Draco had no weapon, really – the knife that he had thought would stab Tom in the back did no such thing, but the important thing to do now was to get Malfoy away from the parchment before he found out something that would – such as the person on the other end of it being Ginny Weasley.

Now that would be something Dumbledore would just love to hear. Not only were there messages again, not only was Voldemort apparently getting back into the school, but Tom Riddle was getting back into Ginny Weasley's mind. Tom didn't want to think about the absurd conclusions Dumbledore would jump to then.

The parchment was talking again, however. "_And now his father's in Azkaban, no less. So he's not running the school, that's for certain. Imagine that – beaten up by little Ginny and then his father shipped off by none other than the famous Harry Potter himself. And now there's no one to keep him out of trouble, so he has to mind which side of the line he walks on, but he's never had to do that before, you can be sure._"

Draco was livid with rage. "That's a Gryffindor and I know it. Who is it?"

Tom shrugged. "I have no idea, Malfoy. None whatsoever." He applied his best, most pitiful look to the other boy. "I'd tell you if I knew, I swear by Merlin I would. But what with classwork and homework and all the prefect duties I used to have, I haven't been able to track her down – and she seems entirely opposed to meeting anywhere, so I can't just do that."

Malfoy looked into his face for a moment but he was no legilimens and couldn't find anything too dishonest there, and then stalked out of the room. "Tell your girlfriend to learn some respect for her superiors, Marvolo," he called back to Tom, but at least he was leaving.

As soon as the other boy left the room Tom pounced on the parchment, rapidly writing a thank you to Ginny. He took a deep breath of relief. But this put him in a rather odd position – he knew, now, that Snape had told his favorite student that Ophicus Serpens Marvolo was not what he seemed. What did Snape expect would be Malfoy's reaction upon hearing the truth, and why didn't Snape trust the other student to that? If he truthfully favored him as much as it appeared that he did, why didn't Snape say, "Your new housemate's name is Tom Marvolo Riddle," and have out with it? He supposed that perhaps "Your new housemate's name is Lord Voldemort, play nice," would be more likely Snape's words, but he didn't want to think about that possibility. Could it be that Snape was worried finding out that version of Tom's 'true' identity would send Draco to actually liking him, and Merlin forbid anything good actually happen to Tom as a result of his Potions master's newfound hatred. That was an interesting idea, though, the thought that Malfoy would actually like him better as the young Dark Lord.

Perhaps, even, be subservient?

Tom had to laugh at that idea.

"_Tom, what the bloody hell was Draco Malfoy doing writing on this parchment?_" Came the response, jarring Tom out of his pensive reverie. The watermark behind was a frenzy of confused motion, Tom hadn't been able to see it before but it was brutally clear now, that Ginny's mind, her thoughts, were a panic of motion and confusion. Except now it was oddly swollen, diluted, and blurred. He squinted to make out what was on the page. She was angry, a little, but alternated from being mostly confused and mostly betrayed, he thought, and everything was as though written on paper and soaked in water, blurring and falling apart.

He was a bit concerned about this change in the character of Ginny's thoughts, but he decided not to push it for the time being. He laughed a bit, thinking of and clearly seeing the disdain and downright hatred that existed between Ginny and Malfoy – between Ginny and every Slytherin except himself, really, and then sighed and picked up a quill to begin writing his answer. "_He stole it, to write a letter to his mother,_" he began.

"_Well, I could tell that!_" came a hurried reply. He could almost imagine her anger, or rather, he could clarly see her anger reflected in the parchment,and he could clearly extrapolate her flushed face as she wrote the words, perhaps sighing in frustration at his density – she wasn't that stupid, after all, she'd be telling herself, and why did everyone always take her for the fool? There would be betrayal there, too, the idea that perhaps Tom was passing her between all the Slytherin boys – as disgusting a proposition to him as it was to her, when all was said and done. And he saw that in the watermark as well, the echoes of the same old 'china doll' and 'baby in a pram' that he had seen before. She seemed rather obsessed with that, he thought vaguely.

But she was waiting for a response and he could read her impatience in the watermark, so he scribbled back onto the parchment. "_Beyond that, I don't know. I left it on my desk last night, I suppose, so that explains how he found it._" It was, in truth, all that he could write, because he had decided that lying to her, especially here, would be absolutely useless. The thought of a fanciful story was appealing to him in its possible amusement, but it would do no good. Ginny was not trying to pin something on him, she was merely shocked and confused that Malfoy had written to her through the parchment. Besides that, and probably more important, was the fact that if he wanted to build her trust in him, which would almost certainly be necessary for him to get anywhere in dechiphering her thoughts, he would absolutely have to be honest with her.

Most of the time, he told himself. He would have to be honest with her most of the time. "_But you handled it excellently – I wish you could have seen his face after he read what you said to him – absolutely shocked, he was._" Tom smiled, almost laughed, and he could tell that the tension was lessening. The faint watermark behind his words calmed and stopped its frantic, angry, confused motion. The crisis was over.


	26. Collusion

Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 26: Collusion

Tom let the relief sink in, the feeling of lightness float into his throat and a smile crack on his lips. He had shown Malfoy up, oh, how he had shown Malfoy up. And with no harmful consequences either – just a plain, simple, joyous victory for the first time in what must have been an eternity. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the parchment, where the watermark was still bleeding and oddly disconcerting.

"_All right, you're forgiven, I suppose,_" Ginny wrote. The watermark was moving slowly now, painfully, as if through molasses. He supposed her head still hurt.

"_Have you seen Madame Pomfrey today?_" he asked, and it was a while before the response came.

"_No. I just woke up and anyway, I don't think I will. I'm horribly tired – couldn't sleep last night._" That was another bad sign, Tom thought. When he had seen her dilated pupils and dazed expression last night, he had expected that it was his charm that had done it, that although his aim had been slightly off he had still affected her to a point. But now he was unsure, these things fit with a major head wound more than a simple entrancing enchantment, and there shouldn't have been any lasting side effects.

"_Does your head still hurt?_" He wrote in response. "_Your thoughts look blurred from here._"

He could see her slight fear on the parchment, but her response didn't betray it. "_My head is fine,_" she lied.

"_I know you're lying. Does your head still hurt?_"

"_It feels like a jackhammer._"

"_You have to go see Madame Pomfrey._"

Silence. He almost felt Ginny distancing herself, and the watermark grew weaker until it was just a haze in the background, now blue, now red, now pale, pale gray. He could almost hear her sigh, or he thought he could. But she would go to Madame Pomfrey, he knew, and she would find out what had happened to give her the headache. That was a start, he supposed. "_Okay,_" she wrote.

"_I'll meet you in the library afterwards,_" he answered.

There was no reply.

.\/p>

Ginny hadn't slept at all the past night – her headache would wake her up every hour on the hour. The painrelief charms that her mother had taught her and advised her to use at every opportunity were of no use to the poor girl – the pounding in her head simply refused to go away. She was groggy and exhausted and her head was about to split open, and the last thing she wanted to do was leave the dormitory, much less go across the castle to Madame Pomfrey. But she knew that it would all be better if she did, and so she dutifully dragged herself into her recently discarded workrobe and stumbled downstairs to the hospital wing.

The nurse had heard about her, it seems, and didn't even question Ginny when she saw her. "I suppose your head hurts," she said, and directed Ginny to one of the beds. She touched her forehead and Ginny winced. Madame Pomfrey clucked in disappointment. "You should have seen me about this last night, Miss Granger came here to warn me but I had no idea that it was this serious. You've probably had a concussion, dear, not to mention bruising all over your head – I'm surprised you made it this far."

Ginny smiled ruefully. This was just wonderful, but when all was said and done in the fight against Voldemort that she could tell was coming, a concussion was going to be the least of her worries. "Okay," she responded. "What should I do?"

Madame Pomfrey shook her head. "Did you sleep last night?"

"I couldn't – my headache was so bad I woke up every few hours."

Finally the woman allowed herself a smile. "That's a good thing. I can heal the bruising and the exterior wounds, but no one is really sure how a concussion works, so we can't do much about what's causing the symptoms. You're still having headaches?"

Ginny nodded.

"How about dizziness? Vision problems? Nausea? Balance loss?"

"A little bit of all of it, really."

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "Well, nothing to strenuous until the symptoms go away, dear. That means no Quidditch, I know you're on the team so I'm going to go ahead and tell Harry and Katie now. Nothing that risks you getting another blow to the head – we don't want this to get serious, young lady."

Ginny nodded slowly. "How much longer are they going to last?" she asked, a bit nervous.

"Who knows – anywhere from a few days to a month is normal. I can get a medic to come from St. Mungos and give you some more screening if they're still going on after winter holidays, but I don't imagine they'll see anything – there's no external sign of bleeding or serious nervous damage."

Ginny nodded slowly. "Can I go now?" she finally asked, as Madame Pomfrey began to leave the room. "Or am I to stay in the hospital wing until I'm recovered?"

"Oh, there's no sense in you staying, at least not for now. If anything happens, tell me, and in any case, why don't you come back every day or so to tell me what's going on – so I can talk to people in St. Mungos if I have to, you understand."

Ginny nodded slowly and made her way to the library.

Tom was waiting for her with a pile of books. She sank into the table across from him. "I didn't think there were this many books on enchanting parchments in the library," she commented with a yawn.

"They're not all on that. Quite a few of these are Potions texts," he responded. "I'm having to keep up to date with what you're doing in class, you know."

Ginny shook her head. "Wardens of the Peace – What Everyone Should Know about Elementary Wards and Beyond? That sounds very much like Potions, Tom."

He blushed. "Okay, so my project for Defence has got me worried a bit as well. You'll understand when you're a sixth year – there's a lot of work."

Ginny shook her head. It throbbed painfully. "And O.W.L.s aren't? I'm not very much younger than you are anymore, Tom. And why are you still working on that Defence project? I thought it was assigned the very first day of class."

Tom smiled. "It's an ongoing project – Professor Quinn keeps bringing up new elements of defensive magic and so Hermione and I, and the rest of the class, keep thinking of new ways to improve our runes. Every week, on Friday, someone tries to get theirs to work – but so far we've only missed class once, and that was when Hermione and I tried."

Ginny frowned. "When did you try?" she asked, slowly.

"On the last class before Holidays," Tom replied. "I suppose that since Professor Quinn knew we would be the only ones to actually succeed, she put us right before the holidays, so no one would miss a class that would otherwise be useful."

Ginny frowned further. "Didn't she say that a backfired ward of the size you and Hermione were thinking could negate the wards around the school?"

Tom nodded, but then added, "But our ward worked. So there's nothing to be worried about."

Ginny almost winced. "Are you sure she didn't just let you have the day off?"

Tom looked livid. "Of course I'm sure she didn't just let us have the day off! I could hear her knocking on the door to be let in the entire time! Honestly, Ginny, have you no faith?"

Ginny sighed. "It's just… she didn't have class for us the day before holidays either, and we're not doing any fancy projects. But my head is splitting – let's get down to business."

He sighed and begrudgingly handed her a book on parchments. She set to reading, forcing her eyes to focus on the small text and not blur the page into a nondescript blob. The disappointing fact that nothing on the page was remotely relevant or interesting made this a harder job than it would otherwise have been, but Ginny plowed through it – or attempted to – nonetheless.

Several hours passed before they were disturbed, but when they were it was absolutely astounding. Elisa crept up behind Ginny silently and whispered to her, "What are you doing, studying with him?"

Ginny jumped out of her skin and very nearly side-seher housemate in the jaw with the heavy tome she was inspecting at the time. "Elisa!" she yelped, and belatedly remembered to keep her voice down. She now had Madame Pince's complete attention. She went to whispering. "What did you do that for? And what do you mean?" She glared at her friend, as if daring her to answer that Tom was certainly not someone to be spending time with.

"Well," Elisa answered, "I would think, what with your brother's hatred, and Harry's for that matter, you'd have a little more sense than to go about setting up more study parties. Honestly, Ginny, show a little sense! We just want to protect you!"

Ginny looked at Elisa calmly and then turned to Tom, who was looking up from his book. Of course, he had heard all of Elisa's whispered advice. "You hear that, Tom?" she laughed. "They just want to protect me. How sweet of them." She turned back to Elisa, a forced smile on her face. "Thank you for your advice, Elisa, but I know just as much as my brother does and I'm certain that I'm in no danger. You can tell Harry and Ron, again, that they don't need to protect me." She laughed slightly and kept her rising temper under control, although it pained her to do it. Her head was beginning to hurt more. She wondered if the two were related.

Elisa, however, was not to be persuaded. "Ginny, I'm serious," she hissed, stealing a glance at a very amused Tom. "You should listen to your brother and Harry. They've always looked out for you."

Again, Ginny smiled calmly. "The only time I needed someone was during my first year, and Harry and Ron were only there at the very last minute. Harry defeated the monster mostly by luck – he'll admit it himself. I certainly appreciate their…" Ginny almost trailed off, finding it very difficult to go on, but shook her head and continued. "I certainly appreciate their chivalrous convictions, and when there is an attack on the school I'm sure they will be the ones to save the day once more, but they have never been particularly attentive before, and I assure you that I can take perfectly good care of myself."

Elisa stared at her for a moment before beginning, "But, Ginny,"

She was interrupted. Ginny had turned away and was calmly reading, and now Tom said, in a voice barely above a whisper but strangely echoing, "She's her own person, you know. You'd do best to leave before either of us gets particularly upset at your insistance."

Elisa, cowed, slunk out of the library. Ginny looked up at Tom and smiled. "Thanks," she said. "That was going to get really annoying."

"Understandably so," he said, and then, "but you handled yourself very well. Have you found anything?"

"Nothing. My head is hurting more, though. Maybe because I'm so frustrated with my housemates. Soemtimes I wish I was sorted into Slytherin, I hate Gryffindors so much."

Tom shook his head. "No you don't, Ginny Weasley. You have no idea what it's really like in Slytherin – you wouldn't fit. But I can certainly understand your loathing of Gryffindor stubbornness and selfrighteous pride."

Ginny laughed a bit. "And the bits about just wanting to protect me! That was rich coming from her, she never moved a finger to save anyone in her life!"

Tom smiled in response, and added, "But doubtless she would have, had a suitable opportunity presented itself," with a smile.

Ginny shook her head. "Bollocks. The majority of Gryffindors would crack under pressure – I've seen them studying for exams. The only one who is really any good in a stressful situation is Harry, and he's become an obnoxious prick. There's no saving any of them."

Tom just laughed. "Imagine that coming from a Gryffindor. I'm surprised at your continued devotion to the wonderful Harry Potter, though."

Ginny just laughed. "Oh yes, the wonderful Harry Potter, everyone's favorite savior," she said with a scathing grin. Tom smiled widely, her deprecation of Harry warming his heart. "The boy who just doesn't know when to give up," she said. Then he began to laugh, and she joined in. They hardly noticed that they were getting louder until they noticed that the people at the table next to them were staring. Madame Pince hissed at them from her desk and then slammed her fist on her desk, silencing them before she quietly, and furiously, asked them to leave.

On the outside of the library, bereft of books, Tom and Ginny once again collapsed into laughter. "She made more noise than we did," Ginny commented, "Slamming the desk like that."

Tom calmed down enough to say that Madame Pince was a fairly nice person, really, but that she was just very touchy about her library, before they both realized that even if study sessions were acceptable meetings, laughing mischeviously in the hallways was probably off-limits. "I'd better go, before my brother finds out – he'd have your head on a platter," she said, and, blushing, turned away. "I should be getting back to Slytherin anyway," Tom muttered, and departed.

Ginny slowly made her way back to her common room. Her headache was subsiding a bit, and she smiled at the world. If nothing else, she could claim this as reason not to get on her bad side, she thought absentmindedly. To argue with her was to give her acute physical pain. She was invulnerable, in a strange way.

And sure enough, when Ron confronted her in the common room, a quick, "Madame Pomfrey says I can't excite my emotions – can we have this discussion later?" changed his condemnation of her actions to a shocked inquiry as to her health. "She says I've had a concussion – the doors hit me right in the face – and now whenever I get angry my headache gets worse, and that's no good."

Ron nodded dumbly and allowed her passage to her room. Sure enough, her concussion served her well in the coming days, and she got all the way to Christmas Day before she had to actually address any of their concerns. She took personal pride in the matter. But on Christmas Day, she woke up to see Hermione looking at her inquisitively.

"Happy Christmas," the older girl said. Ginny mumbled a salutation and sat up in bed.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" she asked.

"I have a few questions to ask you, is all," Hermione answered. She looked rather guilty.

"Did Ron and Harry put you up to this, Hermione?" Ginny asked sullenly. Her headaches had subsided somewhat since the beginning of Holidays and were now fairly minor, if ongoing. She blinked. Fortunately for her head, the room wasn't lit.

Hermione sighed. "Yes," she answered, "and before you refuse to answer any of the questions, I know they're being absolutely absurd about Tom, and I know that you are really just studying with him, but please – Voldemort might have gotten into the school so we all need to be on the same page, we need to pull together to get through this and beat whatever we have to beat this year."

Ginny smiled ruefully. "Whatever Harry has to beat, you mean."

Hermione shook her head. "We were all there – you were there with us – last year. Whatever _we_have to beat, Ginny, I mean what I say."

For a brief moment, Ginny's heart swelled. Maybe Hermione did understand, maybe the older girl really was on her side after all. "Okay, Hermione. Ask away."

"What are you doing with Tom and the parchment?" she asked.

Ginny frowned. "Nothing untoward – it's just to communicate, we write messages back and forth." The question seemed reasonably harmless. She couldn't go anywhere with this, certainly.

Hermione nodded slowly. "Okay, Ginny. Why won't you stop, then? We would all help you with your studies, you know that."

Ginny bit back a shout of frustration. Her head throbbed painfully. "I don't want your help, Hermione. I want Tom's help – because I want to convince myself that he's not evil after all. You have to understand that that's harder for me than it is for anyone else, and you see what a hard time Harry and Ron are having of it, but logically I know that he's not evil, even if in my gut I'm still terrified that he's just going to stab me in the back. I had a best friend my first year, and then I learned that he was my worst enemy, and now I'm learning that he's somewhere in between, and I need to figure that out, and get over my fear. And to get over that I have to spend more time with him, even if it means going against you and Harry and Ron. So it's not just studies – but perhaps advanced psychology, too. Who knows." Ginny shrugged. Hermione smiled. She felt her headache subsiding.

"Okay, Ginny," she answered.

"Don't tell Ron," Ginny suddenly added, "Don't tell Ron and Harry."

Hermione frowned. "Why not?"

"Because if you tell Ron and Harry, they'll get it into their heads that because I say I'm studying with Tom to get over my fear of him what I mean is I'm studying with Tom because, like half the female population of the school, I fancy him. And the last thing I need is for Ron to be afraid that I'm going to start dating Tom Riddle."

Hermione smiled wisely. "Of course. I'll tell Harry and Ron that you don't want to stop because he's much better at Potions than any of us are. They'll believe that – they're both wretched at Potions." She smiled. "But between you and me – _do _you fancy him?"

Ginny stared, shocked, and then frowned, and then shook her head, and then frowned some more. "No, I don't think so. Not much at least. Although he's very clever, and pretty brilliant at, just about everything."

"One last thing, though," Hermione added as an after thought. "Do you know what spell he cast just before the doors closed and Voldemort spoke to the students?"

"An entrancing enchantment. It just barely hit me and slowed me down so the doors didn't hit my face quite as hard. Or at least, that's what he says, and I've done some reading ahead in Charms since then so it does make sense given the effects. And I suppose you all have learned those in Charms class."

Hermione's smiled and she picked a square package up from the ground. "In that case, I don't feel bad at all giving you this," she said, and handed the package to Ginny.

"From you?" Ginny frowned. "But Hermione, I don't have anything for you – we've never exchanged gifts."

Hermione shook her head. "It's from Tom. He insisted that I take it the last time we met to work on our Defence project, and told me to give it to you. But I wasn't going to until I found out what that charm was – it was suspicious, after all."

Ginny nodded slowly and picked up the package, unwrapping it to reveal a plain leather journal with a note on the cover. _I haven't enchanted this one, don't worry,_ it read. Ginny paled and gulped. "He… shouldn't have.

Hermione was shocked. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

Ginny nodded slowly. "I guess so. I don't know. I wouldn't make light of it," she said. And then a thought came to her mind – Hermione had talked about her Defence Against the Dark Arts project. "Say, Hermione, did your ward turn out all right for that project?"

Hermione nodded slowly. "I was nervous at first, because it seemed like nothing had happened, but Professor Quinn was slamming at the door all class and she couldn't get in – so I would suppose it worked."

Ginny frowned. "Because, well, she let my class have the day off our last class before holidays. So I was thinking…"

Hermione gasped. "That maybe the ward backfired, and that's how Voldemort got in?" She looked as though she would never be able to forgive herself.

Ginny shook her head. "No, worse, that Tom made the ward backfire on purpose, so that You-Know-Who could get in."

Hermione was silent. "That… it… it couldn't be, could it?"

"I don't know," Ginny replied. "But it's a frightening thought. Maybe we should stay away from him, just in case…"

Hermione shook her head. "You know we can't do that," she said bracingly. "We've got to stick to him like glue – to see what he's up to. He'd never suspect us, he thinks we're on his side, Ginny."

Ginny smiled and almost leapt from her bed to embrace Hermione. The older girl smiled back. "But no telling Harry and Ron?" Ginny asked.

"Of course not," Hermione replied. "They'd throw a fit."


	27. A Fatal Day

Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

Author's Note: Sorry for the delays, I was out of touch with the internet for a week and since then I've been struck with a fatal case of writer's block. So I'm currently redrafting an outline, stuck on chapter 34, and trying to put together a couple of other projects to do after I finish this one. Hopefully I'll break through this writer's block fairly quickly, and everything will go as planned.

Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 27: A Fatal Day

Hermione quietly left the room, and Ginny turned to the foot of her bed to find a small pile of gifts. She quietly opened them; the usual pink sweater and some candy, before heading down to breakfast. When the owl post arrived, so did a letter from Luna, saying that she had heard the story of the 'attack' through her father's contacts at St. Mungos, and hoping that Ginny wasn't going to get brain damage or amnesia, things that her father said might be side effects of a blow to the head. Luna added that, hopefully, Ginny would discover a secret past which she had previously forgotten – a side effect that Luna had, evidently, added herself. Ginny chuckled as she read the letter and thought ruefully that she was quite glad no such secret past had turned up.

That would be altogether too much.

Luna was trying her best to get her father to allow her back in Hogwarts when term began again, but not having much luck – the story that You-Know-Who had infiltrated the school made it seem the least safe place to be at the time, and Luna didn't imagine many students would be returning once holidays were over. She said that her father was working on a huge exposee all about it for the Quibbler, about the other form You-Know-Who was taking, and the fact that there existed, at Hogwarts presently, two incarnations of the Dark Lord, and explained that her father's especial reticence to send her back to the school involved the fact that he firmly believed it. One Dark Lord his daughter could handle, but two might be a little much even for Luna Lovegood.

Ginny smiled. Attached to the letter had been a small package, a box wrapped in blue paper with gold stars and containing a necklace of butterbeer caps just like the one Luna wore herself, with a rather detailed explanation attached of which Ginny could barely understand a single word. She tucked the note, and the necklace, into a pocket of her robes and headed out of the great hall and to the library. She passed Hermione but didn't speak to the older girl., just smiled conspiratorially.

She went to the library every day anymore, spent her afternoons searching for some sign that what she was experiencing with the parchment was normal. Unfortunately, at this rather late date, she had found no such indication and she was beginning to seriously worry. She wasn't going to be taken in again, not by Tom. It was the old proverb – fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. And if Tom had anything to do with Voldemort's invasion of the school, then it was definitely shame on all of them, herself and Dumbledore included, for giving him a second chance.

"You're late," he said when she sat down across from him. "What took you so long today?"

Ginny frowned. "I'm only four minutes late," she answered, looking at the clock, and then continued. "But if you really must know, I got distracted by the gifts. Happy Christmas."

It was Tom's turn to wince. "Happy Christmas, right," he mumbled, and pushed an especially heavy tome towards her. It fell open to a page, already marked, about enchanted books. Ginny shuddered and read. "Enchanted books have been a long-standing part of every Witch or Wizard's life since time immemorial. Charmed letters and missives have been used as a form of encoded communication, information protection, and even (albeit more rarely) as weapons or traps for the reader, conduits for hexes and dark magic. There have been occasional cases of spirits being trapped in letters, until someone should read them and set the spirit free. The methods of entrapment produce a large amount of energy that can be focused to perform various tasks – from materializing a desired artifact as far as a musty sort of resurrection – in which the recreated being is neither truly spirit nor body and must take the body of the victim in order to be fully human. This sort of thing is not at all uncommon and was, for a long time, used as a method for various Dark Lords to ensure their survival long after their own seeming defeats." That was altogether too familiar to Ginny but she barreled on through the text.

"The most simple of such enchanted books and parchments are simple communicating parchments: parchments designed to display a certain, variable, set of information. These parchments are, in rudiment, easy to make and control, and even beginning Wizards should feel free to endeavor to create them without serious problems should the spells backfire. Key to understanding these parchments, however, is understanding essences. Each communicating parchment must have the essence of the thing it communicates in order to function correctly, and this is the principle part of a communicating parchment." Ginny paused for a moment. "Tom, have you seen this?" she asked.

He glanced over the page and pushed it back to Ginny. "Yes, yes, yes, of course I know all of that – how do you imagine I created the parchments in the first place without knowing that?"

Ginny sighed, shrugged, and went back to reading. After a page or so discussing how essences functioned in communicating parchments, the author listed commonly used essences. For a parchment designed to mirror another parchment it was simple; ink. For an area the wizard was instructed to use a thick mud. For a building a sort of alcohol brewed from mold growing on the foundation. At the very bottom, with a note of caution, were two more essences: blood and tears. The book said that blood corresponded to the heart and tears to the mind. She looked up at Tom again. "I think I've found something," she hissed.

He didn't even look up. "I already said, if that book just describes the spells, I've already read all about it. I know the spell I did, Ginevra, what kind of fool do you take me for?"

"But, Tom, it says here," she began, but he cut her off.

"I know what it says – you have to put the essence of a substance into a parchment in order for it to function as a communicator. Right. Can we move on, Ginny?"

"The parchment must have absorbed my blood and tears," she said flatly.

He stopped reading. "Where did you find that?" he asked, shocked.

Ginny pointed out the relevant table, a bit snidely. "It's written right here. I thought you already knew all about it."

"I do," he responded quickly, picking up the book and reading quickly as he spoke. "Of course I know all about it. I just had forgotten this bit, because it wasn't relevant at the time."

Ginny smiled smugly. "At least this means it's controlled. I mean, now we know why it's acting like this – I cried on it when I was so upset with Harry and Ron that one night, and I must have bled on it at some point as well."

Tom set the book down, looking at least reasonably satisfied with this evaluation. "When?"

Ginny sat back and thought. "When did it start acting strange? Showing my emotions and the like? I haven't accidentally cut myself since I found it, at least not as far as I can remember."

Tom furrowed his brow in thought and then replied, "I suppose about halfway between Halloween and the Holidays – when your brother started pestering you to go home."

"But that's not possible," Ginny said after a pause. She hadn't so much as skinned a knee during the year, at least not as far as she could remember. And especially not between Halloween and the end of the term. She rubbed her hands against her robes in thought. She had found out the source of her troubles, only to discover that it made no sense. Logically, essences had to be the answer of the parchment problem. If she had somehow bled on the parchment it explained exactly what was going on; to have the answer so close and so logical only to be proven false was more than she could handle. That was too confusing, too depressing to be true. She rubbed her eyes, trying to think back, and her Quidditch-calloused palms scratched across her face. The blisters had long ago been replaced by tough, wear-resistant tissue and she didn't have the problem of gripping the broom too tightly any more, even when she was scared out of her mind.

And then it hit her. The blisters – when she had tried to destroy the parchment that day the blisters had popped open and she very well might have bled on the parchment. She smiled, another mystery solved. "It had to have been right after the Gryffindor – Slytherin match, Tom. I had blisters on my hands and they tore when I tried to rip the parchment in half."

Tom nodded but then seemed to register what she had said. "You tried to rip the parchment in half? Why?"

"It was too similar to the diary. I had to destroy it, it was so frightening. But the more people told me to get rid of it, the more I wanted to give you a chance anyway."

Tom laughed slightly but looked a little edgy. "I charmed it to withstand a lot of force. It can't be burned or cut either. Just so you know."

Ginny laughed. "Of course I know," she said, "I've already tried."

The feeling of relief was so intense that Ginny almost burst out laughing right there. It wasn't until she saw Tom's angry face and realized what she had said that a cold lump formed in her stomach. She gulped. "Look, I didn't destroy it," she mumbled. "There's no reason to be so upset." Tom was not appeased in the slightest. "What would you have me do? I couldn't trust you; you were evil. That's beyond question – that the last time I had any interactions with you, you were unmistakably out to kill me, and Harry as well. I don't take that lightly. Not like you, apparently."

"Then why did you write at all?" he hissed.

Ginny sighed. "I guess I wanted to give you a second chance, to prove to myself that I wasn't wrong about you first year, when I thought you were the perfect fifth year. I wanted to believe that I hadn't been so easily fooled, or at least that whatever fooled me wasn't Tom Riddle – wasn't the genius and yet compassionate person I heard on the other side of the diary." She paused. "Would you have rather that I gave it to Harry and never written in it?"

"Harry, at least, is honest about what he thinks of me. There's something to be said for that." Ginny was prepared for many things, but an accusation of betrayal and dishonesty was not one of them.

"Something to be said for his disdain of you, then? For his hatred?" she snapped. "Merlin, Tom, this isn't even about honesty. This is about whether or not one person can give someone else a chance or we all just condemn each other because of a name. Is there something to be said for holding a grudge against someone when it's not valid? Is there something to be said for blind hatred because you look like the boy who became You-know-who? I don't think there's anything to be said for that. You can't blame me for not trusting an enchanted parchment that would allow me to communicate with Tom Riddle. That would be absurd. You just get to deal with the fact that, although I'm trying my best to trust you now, I didn't at first. It's life," she said, standing up. "That's the sermon you gave me – be an adult, stop complaining about life and actually live it. People aren't going to trust you at first because you're too similar to You-know-who. It's too close for comfort. You wouldn't ask people to trust Grindelwald, to give him a second chance if he popped up, would you? Your lot in life is hard, sure, because you have to prove to everyone you meet that you aren't what you seem at first. But that's not a reason to revile the people who are working to get past their first impressions. This isn't about honesty. You knew what I thought of you, you knew it the very first day. That I even spoke to you afterwards is incredible. I would expect you to be glad of it, not to despise it." It looked like understanding was dawning on Tom's face. "I have to go. It's not worth my time to be here if you're childish enough not to realize why I wouldn't instantly trust you."

And, with that, she left. She heard Tom stand up behind her and caught his response, barely audible with the distance. "Wanting transparency isn't childish," he said. She pretended not to hear. It wasn't worth her time. It was too much – blatantly too much – to ask of her to have immediately trusted Tom. He should be happy she was trying as hard as she was to prevent Harry and Ron from murdering him right now, happy that she didn't just assume he had intentionally botched the ward and call for someone to get him and take him to Azkaban immediately for conspiring with Voldemort.

When she got back up to the Gryffindor Common Room, it was almost time to head back to the Great Hall for dinner. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were sitting in a tight group near the fire and discussing something. She wondered if she had the willpower to break into their conversation and find out what it was, or even pull Hermione away to tell her about her and Tom's discovery. She doubted that she did, when all was said and done.

In general, Ginny was not one for reminiscence, but she looked back with genuine longing to the times last year (albeit few) when she considered herself part of the loop with those three. It had been so much simpler then, so much less personal and so much less troubling. Tom hadn't been there, and she hadn't been constantly reminded of her troubled first year – she hadn't been able to forget it, of course, but at least there hadn't been that constant reminder of her weakness, her naivete and gullibility. There had been a job to do: get Harry out of his incomprehensible funk. It was a job she could wrap her mind around, a job she could understand and even enjoy a little, much unlike her current job of "Defeat Tom and Voldemort, if possible."

Wasn't that Harry's job, usually? She supposed it was, in the long run, probably going to be Harry who defeated Voldemort. She vaguely wished they had heard the prophecy. Maybe it said something more specific about how they were to defeat Voldemort. Maybe it hinted at the tools that Harry was supposed to use or the spells he had to learn. Or even why Voldemort wasn't dead. Unfortunately, though, the prophecy was destroyed, and at least Voldemort didn't get the information therein. She thought ruefully that at this rate it was more likely to be Harry that killed Tom and some other fellow who actually killed Voldemort, but the Daily Prophet would welcome Harry as their savior simply because he was the boy that lived. She almost laughed at the prospect. Harry was the one who was going to defeat Voldemort. Of course, that didn't mean that Ginny couldn't try – and right now, at least, she stood a better chance of figuring out what was going on than Harry did. She strode past her brother and his friends and climbed the stairs to her dormitory instead.

Once inside, however, her feelings were immediately reversed. She felt very much inclined to side with Harry and her brother, upon the sight of a black journal, leather-bound, sitting on her pillow, with a note in a sickeningly familiar scrawl: "Don't worry, I haven't enchanted this one." How could he _do_ that, and expect her to still trust him? It seemed the least she could ask for him to pretend, at least, that he was not the same person she communicated with her first year, the least she could ask for him to pretend not to be an incarnation of Voldemort, but he seemed content at every moment to remind her of that sickening former connection and its disastrous and nearly deadly conclusion. She wanted to tell Harry and Ron all about it, to set them on him as she knew they would, like rabid dogs, if she so much as asked. But she also knew it would be cross-purposes, and potentially stupid, so she threw the diary into the fire and watched its reassuring crackle instead, telling herself that she was burning her connection with Tom along with it, at least until he would forgive her.

Meanwhile, Tom was not happy. He had walked around the frozen lake to get some perspective on what Ginny had told him. The fact of the matter was that while he knew she was being honest and probably wise in what she had said, he felt entirely at sea. He wasn't himself. He hadn't been himself since he woke up. He was used to being charismatic and proud, genius, lauded and celebrated by the Slytherins and despised and feared by everyone else. He was used to getting his way in just about everything. But now he was hated and looked down upon by the Slytherins, reviled but certainly not feared by the Gryffindors, his closest ally was Albus Dumbledore himself, and the only people who even seemed to respect him were Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger, the mudblood and the blood traitor, and even they didn't regard him with an ounce of the deferential fear he was used to. Things were resolutely not going his way.

But, try as he might to blame everyone else for the fact that his position seemed utterly impossible, he couldn't help but notice that Ginny was right. Maybe the reason he was in this position to begin with was he had been too brash, too expectant in the first few days, and lately had fell into a childish funk. He knew that one certainly couldn't impress people with childish tantrums, especially not compared to Draco Malfoy, who had to be the king of childish tantrums. He could have answered, on his very first day, that what would get him back his idyllic position was not brash pride and confrontation but rather charisma, grace, flattery, and undeniable power. Of the four, he had shown only one, and so it was no surprise that he was failing so miserably.

Of course, the real problem, he decided, was that he was trying to define himself as good or bad, pro-Voldemort or pro-Harry, when really he wanted to define himself as pro-Tom. That's what he always had been, what he always would be. He was a free agent. He was not beholden to anyone, he owed no one allegiance or favors, and that was a good thing. He smiled, having once again found his center. He wondered how much of a fool he had appeared to be. He realized, then, that the one thing that he had wanted to do since he woke up, not because it was good or bad but simply because it was intriguing, was figure out Ginny Weasley. And, conveniently, he had a map of her mind. He returned to the library and found a secluded corner to tried to piece together the watermark. He magnified sections, he sensitized and desensitized the whole thing, and darkened the ink so that it was easily readable. He was trying to color code it somehow when Madame Pince found him and chased him out of the library, yelling at his back that no magic was allowed – and what if he had destroyed the books, the rare books, what would he have done then?

He returned, disgruntled, to the Slytherin common room, and set up shop there. People in Slytherin all despised him too much to really take notice or be nosy into what he was doing with a parchment, and most of them had by now heard of Draco Malfoy's rather fated encounter with whoever was on the other end, so they stayed away from him even more stubbornly. He would figure out how to return to his former, prominent place among them once he had deciphered his chart, which he figured would not be long. Truth be told, it wasn't long before Tom had a scribbled, constantly changing, but at least legible map of Ginny's inner workings. He considered that, in the scheme of things, this counted as a huge windfall in his "Understand Ginny Weasley" plan.

What upset him was the fact that she was, right now, most certainly thinking of him, and the thoughts were anything but positive. A repeating theme was Ron beating him with various sharp and blunt objects, cursing him and chasing him out of the school, and otherwise torturing him. He could also see this was because she did not take to the diary in the slightest, and she suspected him of working for Voldemort and intentionally botching the ward in order to allow Voldemort a way into the school. He frowned, there was nothing he could do to disabuse her of her unfortunate misconception at the moment. Or rather, there was nothing he could do that wouldn't be potentially very dangerouns and horribly unethical. And at least for the moment, he would rather remain both unharmed and reasonably ethical. He didn't have to be overly virtuous, but a little bit of goodness never hurt anyone, he reasoned. Or at least, he figured that the anger Ginny felt towards him at the moment was only a hundredth of the fury and hatred she would pin him with if she found out that he used the parchment to control her thoughts. And he didn't want Ginny to hate him; he was fairly confident that if she hated him she would ignore him, and if she ignored him his plan to understand Ginny Weasley, and, he had to admit, control Ginny Weasley, would fail miserably.

So instead of touching anything on the parchment, he just read. He read all night, noticed when Ginny fell asleep and when she began to dream. He read until his eyes watered at the thought of the watermark.

And the more he read, the more he knew that he was in trouble.

Deep, deep trouble.


	28. Occlumency

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** Another chapter! I might actually stick to my roughly-once-a-week schedule for a bit! There are 11 more chapters (including this one) of which six are written. Please review! It will help me get to the end more quickly!

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 28: Occlumency**

By morning, Tom realized that his fascination with Ginny Weasley had reached the level at which it could no longer be called anything but an obsession. Her thoughts were fascinating, complicated, and more than anything, confused. Oddly enough, the confusion only made them more interesting; it didn't cause him to discount her as a foolish girl and be on his way. He still wanted to pick them apart, wanted to pick them apart even more, if that was possible. He had always rationalized that this was because of the challenge they offered, but the more he realized how interesting reading the parchment was, the more he realized that his interest in picking apart Ginny Weasley was not purely a matter of academic ambition. Frighteningly enough, it wasn't simply for the challenge of the game that he played it. There was something else there. This bothered him greatly; he was supposed to be a Slytherin, the chief Slytherin, so very ambitious and uncaring that it was impossible to define him any other way. And what was more, his action in deciphering Miss Weasley was supposed to prove to himself that he was still the ruthless, ambitious, and power-hungry Slytherin he had always been. But the more that he thought about it, the more that he realized that as much as he would have pegged himself as a being of pure ambition, that wasn't what he was.

The problem wasn't that there weren't interesting things to figure out on the level of her relationships with other people – Harry and Ron in particular gave him hours of entertainment. The element of a challenge was certainly there, as was the element of prevailing over that challenge. And the fact that she wouldn't want him doing this only added to the fun of the situation; she couldn't stop him from figuring her out; no matter what she didn't say or what she said, he had first class access to her inner workings through the parchment. It was amusing how fate, for the first time all year, appeared to love Tom Riddle, but maybe that was simply because he knew how to use a situation. So, he reasoned, suitable Slytherin rationales weren't totally missing from this situation; but nevertheless a little feeling in his gut told him that he wasn't really being cold-hearted, proud, and ambitious when he decided that he needed to sort Ginny Weasley out. That he had partly honorable motives, even. That maybe, and this was the thought that bothered him so incredibly much, maybe he really just was fascinated by the girl and wanted to keep up the connection from his previous year. Maybe he just _liked _her.

Of course, right up there with the distressing thought that his interest in Ginny Weasley was not the familiar interest he had in many other people – how could they be used as tools – was the more comforting thought that, more than anything else, Tom Riddle wanted to control Ginny Weasley. He wanted to take her impetuous spirit and her assurance that she was his equal, and, well, prove her so wrong that she recognized his greatness, and bowed to his infinitely superior will. He wanted to control her completely, if only because he had not been able to so far.

But these were thoughts that were only appropriate for the early morning hours, and he didn't even realize how long he had been reading the parchment until the parchment itself woke up – he glanced at a nearby clock to see that it was almost eight in the morning and Ginny, evidently, was waking up. He almost sat back in horror. He had honestly spent the entire night, more than twelve hours, having a make-believe conversation with a Gryffindor, and not just so that he could better take advantage of the foolish girl. He must be losing his touch, or something.

Or perhaps he was just tired. He had heard of people hallucinating upon sleep deprivation, he had heard that it caused the victim to act like a drunken fool. Perhaps this was what he acted like when drunk, soppy and emotional and not his normal self. That wouldn't be too hard to believe. He decided to get some sleep, as that would certainly be the only thing that would help with his Ginny problem. After all, with a good nap behind him, with his brain functioning again, he would go back to viewing her, and everyone else, as a means to an end, as a potential helper or a potential hurdle but certainly not as anything other than an object in his path to success and glory. He was, after all, still a Slytherin.

At about the same time, Ginny was waking up with a splitting headache and a sour mood. Her identification with Harry, Ron, and Hermione had worn off with the night and she couldn't help feeling, with a stab of pain between her eyes, that no one was really on her side anymore. Perhaps if this blasted headache would go away she could properly think things through, but it hurt to the point of distraction. Wearily she pulled the covers back over her head, trying to pretend that the day did not need to begin. What was the point, anyway? Classes did not resume for another week, she could afford to put off her assignments for another day while she nursed her aching head. Maybe when she felt a bit better she could wander down to the hospital wing and see if Madame Pomfrey could do anything to dull the pain. And then she ought to start on her Potions work – Snape had assigned a ridiculous amount, to prepare them for their O.W.L.s, and if Ginny was certain of one thing it was that she was not going to Tom Riddle for help on Potions any more. Even though it would mean that her marks in Potions would probably take a nose dive.

Then again, she thought ruefully, Hermione might not agree. Hermione, the perfect little child, would say that she should ace Potions without Tom's help. Or that she should ace Potions with Tom's help and somehow stop him from letting Voldemort into the school as well. Or some such unlikely scheme that even Hermione would think could only work if you were as powerful and as perfectly studious as Miss Granger herself. A witch like Ginny didn't stand a chance. And so Ginny decided, in her pain-clogged mind, to ace Potions without any help, partially to spite Tom and partially to spite Hermione.

Of course, in reality, Hermione would have been thrilled with Ginny's new resolve, especially as it got the weary girl out of bed, through a cold shower, and to the hospital wing for some pain relief. Madame Pomfrey gave her a tonic to drink, and although it tasted wretched it dulled the pain. Breathing calmly again, and no longer clenching her jaw from pain, Ginny made her way to the Great Hall to get a bite to eat before heading upstairs to study. She ended up only picking up a roll and heading back out, the combination of the ceiling which portrayed an impossibly bright day outside and the noisy students excited over the various parcels they had received for Christmas made the Great Hall an excruciating place to be, even considering the tonic. Sighing, Ginny made her way back to the Gryffindor Tower. Perhaps the library would be better, she thought, but the very idea of running into Tom accidentally was enough to persuade her against using the library to study. The Gryffindor Common room would be better.

She climbed up to her bedroom and retrieved her study materials and then flounced into an armchair by the fire in the common room, Potions text in hand and notes parchment beside her. Tom's work had caught her up and put her ahead of the game in the class, and she wanted to stay that way without his help, and so she carefully began transcribing the contents of the text, now in bullet form. Perhaps she could color-code it later on. That sounded altogether too much like something Hermione would do, so she decided against it.

After wading through the same three pages of her Potions text no less than six times, and retaining none of it, Ginny was feeling much more amenable to Mr. Riddle. She found it hard to imagine how much easier it had been to understand Potions when he had been teaching. Then again, maybe her headache had something to do with it. She pulled out her Charms assignment and skimmed through it – Charms was easily her best subject. When it was completed, an hour later, she decided that the problem was not in her head but in her mastery of Potions, and that there really was only one solution.

It, however, was a solution she had decided against, at least until Tom apologized for the diary and for acting like a child, and as such she decided to simply blame her difficulties on her headaches and put off her Potions assignment until she felt more up to the challenge. She had no assignment in either Care of Magical Creatures or Herbology, which left Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Divination, and Ancient Runes. Gulping down her worry that a week would not be enough time to finish all that, she bravely picked up her History of Magic text, hoping to get the essay on whatever goblin revolution it was this time over with.

She caught herself drifting off about halfway through the reading, but found her place again fairly quickly and finished the essay as Hermione sat down beside her with a sigh. "I've wanted to talk to you all day," Hermione whispered. "I mean, just watching him won't do very much good – if he's conspiring with You-know-who he won't be likely to hint at it to us, now will he? So we need to pry it out of him, and the sooner the better, but how are we going to convince Ophicus to tell us anything?"

Ginny set her essay aside. She looked wearily up at Hermione. "I'll think about it, Hermione. I can't do much until classes start, though, I've put off my work so long that I barely have time for all of it," she confided. Hermione looked appalled, and reminded Ginny that she had spent most of her holiday in the library.

"With Tom – Ophicus," Ginny replied defensively.

"Working on Potions? Did it really take that long?"

Ginny sighed unhappily. "No, I haven't even asked for help on my Potions work. The thing is, the parchment seems to be acting strangely, we were trying to figure out what was wrong with it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You didn't destroy it," she said suspiciously.

Ginny shook her head. "I couldn't, and anyway it doesn't matter, does it, because it means that now you have my help, and if I had done what you lot wanted me to do and alienated him completely you wouldn't have anyone to help you figure out what he was up to at all." Hermione looked wary for a moment and then nodded, admitting Ginny was right. She asked what was wrong with the parchment.

"It started," Ginny began, and then realized a horrible, horrible problem. "It started to broadcast my thoughts – I couldn't control it. Hermione, he knows I'm suspicious, he probably knows that we're spying on him, or if he doesn't he'll figure it out soon enough." She winced. "Why didn't I think of that earlier?"

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise and a bit of fear, and then after a moment of thoughtfulness she told Ginny to wait one second and rushed up to her dormitory, coming back with a pile of unwieldy books. She dropped them in front of Ginny. "These are a bunch of books on Occlumency. I took them out of the library to help Harry, but he's not much interested since the lessons with Dumbledore are going swimmingly. You're welcome to them; obviously we just need to get you good enough at occlumency to block the parchment, or to control what the parchment says." Ginny looked wearily at the pile of books, and thought about all the work she had to do for Transfiguration and Potions.

"Hermione," she whined. "I don't have the time to become an occlumens. I have so much else to do."

Hermione shook her head tersely, indicating that this was of the first importance, and that if Ginny's marks had to suffer in order for them to get to the bottom of Tom's possible connection with Voldemort, well, then Ginny's marks would suffer. "You know that this is more important, Ginny," she warned, and then added, with a smile, "You'll be good at this, Ginny. You're clever and you're a good liar, and you're marvelous at hiding your feelings, most of the time. It just takes a bit of focus and a bit of learning."

Ginny picked up one of the books – a theoretical history of occlumency – with a sigh. She began reading. This was looking dreary.

Tom, on the other hand, was faring much better. He was progressing through his assignments with a fair clip, he had yet to be accosted again by Ron, Hermione, or Harry, the Slytherins avoided him instinctively as if sensing, and obeying, the interdiction implicit in Malfoy's hatred for him. There were a couple Ravenclaw girls at a table behind him who would titter every so often, but besides that his time in the library had been peaceful and productive. He took a break between Arithmancy problems and glanced over the Parchment. Ginny was thinking about her Transfiguration work, and how she would never get it done, and looming in the back of her mind was the fact that she still hadn't started her Potions work, and she was so hopeless at it that she was in desperate need of help from Tom, but she was too proud and angry to ask him for assistance. Tom grinned. This was perfect, he thought – her desperation would overwhelm her pride, he was sure, and she would play right into his hands. He chuckled a little bit.

And then he saw in a fuzzy corner, a single word: Occlumency. It was getting bigger, and bigger, and eventually it grew to take up almost the entire page. He stared, angry. She was fighting back. She was so angry with him that she was cutting off the connection, finding a way to stop him from using the parchment. She was really serious about her suspicions, she was really serious about stopping him, and she was especially serious about not trusting him as a confidante any more. He momentarily forgot himself in his rage and tried to rip the paper in half, which of course it wouldn't do, and then crumpled it up and threw it into the litter basket. His hands were shaking. He had been so close, so tantalizingly close, and she had outsmarted him. Or not outsmarted him, but at least her mistrust had outweighed her curiosity and he had failed.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. She hadn't outsmarted him, not yet. And he could even use this to his advantage, he figured, make her guilty for hiding herself from him once his name was cleared. Perhaps. Probably. That would work. He could do that, trick her into opening herself up to him again, and possibly in the meantime take some precautions to prevent this happening again. Of course, once he prevailed she wouldn't do it again. He just had to be careful these next few weeks. Get back on her good side. Make her grateful to him, guilty that she had slighted him. And he would never pass up an opportunity to use the watermark in the parchment again. It was, after all, foolish to think that she would ever find out he had done it if he didn't tell her. It was untraceable.

And so it was decided, he would have to butter her up and befriend her, as much as he hated it he couldn't simply wait until she came to him with a failed Potions assignment. He shook his head and turned back to his Arithmancy.

It could wait until the morning.

And, in the morning, a pleasant surprise waited for him. On the parchment was written a note, in big bold letters. _Tom_, it said. _I'm so sorry for what I said at our last meeting. It was rude and inappropriate. Please accept my apology. And, as if my profuse apology were not enough humiliation, if you could look kindly on me and help me with my Potions work, I would be most grateful. I've read through the section several times and it simply doesn't make any sense. _Tom grinned. He knew she was lying through her teeth, or at least, he was fairly confident that she was lying through her teeth, but he was willing to accept that because it would allow him an in. And she was a good liar – her lies had a spark of truth in them; she did, after all, desperately need his help in Potions still. He looked at the watermark underneath the words as they disappeared. It was all flowers and butterflies and her feeling sorry and the dread looming of Potions work that she couldn't understand.

Oh, she was good. All that after only one night of study? She was very, very good.

He laughed and picked up a quill, beginning to write. He wondered, for a moment, if he should lay it on thick and hope that Ginny didn't realize she wasn't quite in time to keep him from knowing the truth, or be sullen and proud and more believable. But another look at the deceptive watermark taught him not to underestimate her. He went with the more conservative, latter option. He didn't want to give away all the cards in his hand, after all. _Apology accepted_, he wrote. _Meet me in the library._ And nothing more. The words slowly disappeared, and he packed up his things, pulled on his robes, and made his way to the library, where he found Ginny Weasley waiting, the picture of grateful, pitiful, remorse.

"Thank you, Tom," she whispered as he sat down. "Thank you so much." Anyone would have believed her, he thought, had they not known better. She opened her Potions text. "I can't understand this," she said, pointing to a page that even Tom had to admit was cryptic and difficult. He began explaining, tersely, and gradually allowed himself to warm to the subject, so as to make it appear that Ginny's repentance was breaking through to him and he was beginning to forgive her, if unwillingly.

She didn't seem to even notice it; she played her part absolutely perfectly. Tom even doubted himself for a moment. But only for a moment.

By lunchtime, they were finished, and Ginny said, offhandedly, as she closed the book and organized her notes, "I've been thinking, Tom, about the parchment. It seems rather unfair that you have a map of all my thoughts and emotions and I have a parchment that shows me only what you want, doesn't it?"

Tom stared at her. It was her own stupidity that had put her in this situation, and he wasn't going to allow her to know his thoughts and emotions when they were in the middle of playing this game of cat and mouse. It would ruin his poker face. "It's your own fault for not being more careful, Ginevra," he said sullenly.

Ginny looked truly crestfallen. "I know," she said meekly. "Of course I know. And I wouldn't expect you to add your tears, after all, I can't imagine you crying," Tom almost laughed. Flattery. "But perhaps just a drop of your blood. To even the field. You understand."

Tom stared at her, schooling his face to be wary and proud and not incredulous. "Perhaps," he said. Ginny smiled hopefully, thanked him again, and was gone.

What she had said was true, Tom had to admit. If this came down to a game of wits, he had the upper hand quite decidedly. But Tom wasn't sure he felt particularly bad about it. Then again, she was a year younger than him, and a Gryffindor, and he could hardly believe that she would outsmart him in the end. He knew her plot, he was watching her, and she was under the mistaken apprehension that he was falling for it. And, he thought as he wandered into a section of the library most likely to contain texts on Occlumency, he had the advantage of learning to hide his emotions before he pricked his finger. He had to be better at this than Ginny, he decided. After all, he was a Slytherin.

He studied all day, and it seemed elementary enough, and so in the evening he wrote on the parchment, quite simply, "You were right," and then filled his mind with a sense of justice, of trust, and a sincere desire to prove his worth, cut his pinky finger with a pen knife and squeezed the blood onto the parchment. The drops splattered onto the paper, dissolved away, and for a moment it seemed like nothing had happened on his end.

Then he had the most peculiar feeling; as if a door in the back of his mind were opening and he could sense, through the doorway, happiness. He looked at the parchment, and it nearly glowed yellow with joy and relief. He could feel her laughter, ringing in his head. She must not know that she had been bested at her own game, he decided. And it was novel feeling. It wasn't just knowing that she was happy, her happiness bled over into his own mind. He halted its progress. He turned it around, blocking it at the door, keeping his thoughts his own. The same thing must have been happening to Ginny, he decided. He pictured how it could be used to his advantage, and he smiled.

And, without further exploit, the Christmas holidays ended, and the Hogwarts Express returned to the school only a quarter full of students. It was a sad sight, watching the few children file back into the great hall, knowing that their comrades and compatriots were at home, stuck there for fear that there would be a serious attack. Dumbledore was grim, and the Professors' faces were full of dread. It looked, Tom had to admit, like the end of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Again. That, he had to admit, saddened him immensely.

Hogwarts was his home, after all. And to leave it without so much as a diploma would be more disappointing than he could imagine. He had always hoped, somehow, to return as a Professor in due time. He couldn't do that if it closed. He decided that this was a suitable emotion for Ginny to know he felt, and didn't stamp it down before it seeped through to her. He didn't know if it worked or not, but he could only assume the best when a little wave of pity, too small to be intentional, was reflected back at him. Everything was, shockingly enough, going according to plan.


	29. Coming Clean

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note: **Ten chapters to post after this one; I'm nearing the end! (And it's been a long time, too.) Thank you to gh for reviewing; the last chapter I posted was the first I wrote when I "came back" to the story after several years' hiatus; I had to take Tom's character in a different direction so I hope that it continues to be more believable. Please review!

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 29: Coming Clean**

Hermione was, surprisingly, the last person to show up. Luna had arrived exactly on time and Neville had been there a few minutes early and plied Ginny with questions about the holidays. The three of them waited for Hermione to show up, sitting impatiently around the small table in the remote corner of the library that would only seat four people. Ginny hoped desperately that Tom wouldn't appear, but she schooled her mind and her external appearance to betray none of it. She was exhausted from the effort of constantly putting up a front, but refused to let it show. It had only been a few days; she could last longer than this. She would have to last longer than this. She tried to focus on the mundane news her friends shared. Neville had spent a very boring holiday at home and had only barely convinced his grandmother to send him back to Hogwarts. Luna had finally told her father she wanted to do undercover work for him and give him more information about the other Lord Voldemort in order to get back into the school. Ginny didn't dare start talking about Tom, and Hermione, and their concerns, and their decided lack of a plan on how to catch him red handed or at least find out what he was doing, and so she limited herself to the shallowest of descriptions of the holiday, and the conversation became more awkward as the minutes passed. Fortunately, there were only seven of them, according to Neville, who should probably be trusted on such things. Hermione sunk into the last chair at the table looking as harassed as Ginny didn't allow herself to acknowledge she felt. "Sorry, all," Hermione whispered. "Harry and Ron are at it again. They, well, they're fixated on figuring out how You-know-who got into the school. They really don't know what they're talking about."

Luna smiled dreamily. "Well, father says that he was probably let in by his alter-ego – that's Ophicus, to us – and disguised with polyjuice or something." She looked towards Hermione, as though expecting some sort of fight. To her great surprise, Hermione just nodded.

"For once," she said, "I might have to agree with your father. Ophicus convinced me to help him on this ward for Defense Against the Dark Arts. And it was amazingly complicated and powerful; the kind of thing that students really shouldn't be doing. But I wanted to do something difficult and interesting for a change, and it was thrilling. Professor Quinn told us that if it was even the slightest bit wrong, it could interfere with the other wards around the school, and even eliminate them or something – for a short time, mind you – so that people could get in. Ophicus assured me that he had never cast a spell that hadn't worked, and we were excruciatingly careful, but…" Hermione trailed off, and Ginny picked up where she left off.

"We think that Tom botched the ward, to let You-know-who into the school, and then hid him in the Chamber of Secrets," she said in a careful monotone, not thinking about the words but rather thinking about her vague disappointment that so few students had arrived back at school. "We don't know for sure. So we're keeping it a secret, just between us four – even Harry and Ron don't know. And we're trying to catch him red-handed, or get some explanation, or something, before we bring them into it, since they'll just leap to conclusions and attack."

Luna frowned. "Well I don't see any reason why what you say can't be true," she said offhandedly, as if this was as good as proof. "It does make a good deal of sense."

Hermione sighed and looked over at Ginny, as if to say that she had known this would happen and it was entirely not to her liking. Ginny met her gaze, however, with a look so stubborn it could only have come from Molly Weasley, and Hermione backed down. "We need more than a good deal of sense," she said to Luna. "We need proof. We're talking about turning him in to the authorities and having him sent to Azkaban. If he really is innocent, we can't do that, it would be terrible."

Luna looked thoughtful for a moment and Neville piped up. "We'll help you spy on him, of course, or at least I will," he said. Luna nodded in assent. "I was going to anyway," she added.

Ginny grinned, being sure to first school her thoughts to the simplicity of seeing old friends. "Wonderful," she said. "At the moment, though, we don't really have a plan." Neville's face fell a bit, and Luna returned to her rather dazed, thoughtful expression. "I'm trying to get him to open up to me, since it seems like I'm the only one he even gets close to confiding in, to see if he'll spill the beans. But, I have to be honest, this Occlumency thing is exhausting me, so we have to find something out soon or I'll just collapse." Hermione smiled at her hopefully, as if to say that they would, they certainly would, and Ginny wasn't to worry.

"Occlumency?" Neville asked. "Why do you need to be doing Occlumency? He can't read your mind, can he?"

Ginny sighed. "It's the parchment he gave me. I didn't know the enchantment he used, of course, and I accidentally got some of my blood on it, and then some of my tears, and well…" she sighed. "Yes. He described it as a watermark, it shows what I'm thinking about. And emotions too, or something." She rubbed her eyes wearily, and let that emotion through. "Or it would, but I'm trying to learn Occlumency to keep it from him, in case he really is all that evil." She sighed. "And I have no idea how to destroy the parchment, either, or I would just do that."

"He'd notice that," Hermione warned. Ginny sighed and nodded. "But it would be so much easier," she said. "And maybe he's noticed this."

Neville put a hand on Ginny's shoulder, reassured her that they would figure out what was going on, and quickly, and Ginny forced a smile on her face. Hermione spoke up. "Harry and Ron almost guessed what we're suspicious of, but I misdirected them, I think," she said quietly.

Ginny turned to Hermione. It would be easier the more people to help, so even though Ginny knew why Harry and Ron had to be kept in the dark she didn't exactly like it. "What did you say?" she asked.

"Oh, it was probably nothing," Hermione answered promptly. "Ron suggested that Voldemort apparated in, and Harry seemed to think it was a possibility, until I reminded him that you can't apparate into Hogwarts, because of the Wards, and since they obviously hadn't read Hogwarts: a History, weren't they at least listening in Defense Against the Dark Arts class?" Hermione smiled, half guilty and half proud. "I feel just wretched not letting them know what I'm thinking," she confessed. "I've never done that before. Or, well, only during my third year and only about the Time Turner."

"It's for their own good," Ginny answered promptly. "And everyone's. As soon as we have proof, we'll tell them." She yawned, rubbed her eyes again, and stood up. "Well, I have a lot of work to do," she said, "And I'm sure you all do too." They stood up, and parted ways, and Neville, Hermione and Ginny walked to the Gryffindor tower in silence.

Ginny did have work to do, and more of it than she could handle, and with Occlumency weighing on her mind and sapping her energy day in and day out, she could barely stay awake. She plodded her way slowly through History of Magic and Transfiguration, and even Charms had become a chore. Of the Gryffindor girls in her year, only Amelia had returned, and she was out on "Prefect duties" so much it was beginning to seem suspicious. But Ginny hardly noticed, she was so tired.

Disaster struck, about a week into term. The dementors, predictably, defected, and the inmates of Azkaban escaped. Malfoy preened for a week. But other than that, not much happened. The fifth years were going through their career counseling, as per normal. The only difference was, with so few fifth years to counsel, Ginny – who would have been at the end of the alphabetical list – had an appointment in the middle of the month. She was still exhausted, and walked, or shuffled, into McGonagall's office. McGonagall smiled at her fairly warmly and asked her what her plans were after graduating Hogwarts.

"I want to be an Auror," Ginny responded promptly. "Or a professional Quidditch player."

McGonagall looked surprised. "Really? Are you sure about that? An odd combination, I must admit." She looked over Ginny's grades. "Well, Auror training is right out, Miss Weasley, I'm sorry to say but your Potions marks are nowhere near good enough, and advanced Potions is considered a necessary prerequisite." Ginny looked vaguely disappointed. "To play Quidditch, well, you certainly don't need academics to do it, but you haven't been on the team for very long, and don't you think you're a bit small for it?"

Ginny frowned. "No, Professor, I think I'm quite good at Quidditch. You don't have to be big to play."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips and shook her head. "One just worries. Why don't you think of something safer, something more likely? So few people actually play professional Quidditch, after all, why don't you think of something, well, more ordinary?"

Ginny stared in shock. "More ordinary?" she asked.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Have you ever considered being a healer? Or working for the Ministry?"

Ginny couldn't believe what she was hearing. She was, however, too tired to put up a fight. "No," she said wearily. "I haven't."

"Well, Miss Weasley, there are quite a lot of Ministry jobs that are designed for people who are particularly good at Charms, and it would seem that you certainly are."

Ginny nodded bleakly, took the pamphlets that were offered to her, and turned to leave the office. As she stood up, Professor McGongall said, with a touch of concern in her voice, "Are you all right, Miss Weasley? You don't seem yourself."

Ginny shook her head and forced another brave smile on her face. "I'm fine, professor," she responded. "Just tired. This term has been harder than expected."

"If it's that Ophicus boy, and the chamber, and all of that, well, you know what I said at the beginning of the year," McGongall said.

Ginny nodded, said that of course she remembered, but after being told her chosen career paths were too dangerous, there wasn't a chance that she would let Professor McGonagall molly-coddle her about her emotional traumas and Ophicus Marvolo. Ginny set her jaw, and left the room, collapsing into an armchair in the common room and staring vaguely in the fire.

She thought about throwing in the brochures. But the brochures weren't doing any harm, and McGonagall would probably knew if she threw them into the fire. And it wouldn't do any good either. She could destroy the pamphlets but she would still have that condescending face stamped on her memory, telling her that Quidditch was a bit dangerous for a career, and a bit childish as well, and did she really think that the best part of her schooling at Hogwarts was Quidditch? What about, after all, Charms?

To Hell with Charms, Ginny thought. She slouched down into her seat and tried to lose herself in the fire, but was rudely interrupted from her sulking by Harry, Hermione, and Ron coming down from the boys' dormitory. They didn't see her and went to sit in a tight knot in the corner of the common room.

Ginny hadn't talked to Hermione about their plan for figuring out what Tom was up to since the meeting with Luna and Neville. Classes had happened and then, what with the escape from Azkaban, Harry was panicking and it was all Hermione could do to keep him and Ron from murdering Tom immediately. Ginny supposed that Hermione was doing important things, that keeping Harry and Ron from jumping to conclusions and taking rash action was a wise and laudable thing that the older girl was in a privileged position to do, but all the same Ginny wished she had a confidant. She walked over to the trio. They didn't look up or see her. She stood behind Harry and Ron, they didn't look up and see her. They were examining the Marauder's map, Ginny couldn't tell why. Tom was in the Slytherin Dungeon, not moving – probably sitting at his desk and working, Ginny imagined.

"Hermione," she said calmly, and three heads popped up in surprise. Harry sighed in relief, as though afraid someone else – someone more dangerous? – had snuck up behind them. Ron mumbled something about surprising a person, and Hermione looked pained and tired. "Could I have a word?" Ginny asked.

"I'm a bit busy now, Ginny," Hermione said calmly. "Are you sure it can't wait?"

Ginny frowned. When it came down to it, she recognized that Hermione would think Ginny's need for connection to be ridiculous and certainly something that could wait. But Ginny herself was fairly certain that it couldn't wait – not any longer than the two weeks it already had. "What did McGonagall tell you when you all talked to her about jobs?" Ginny asked quietly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do we have to do this now, Ginny?" Ron backed her up with a serious look; _The world is in danger, Ginny, we're trying to save it, and all you can think about is what McGonagall said you could or could not do for a career?_ Harry just looked down at the map, but didn't look like he wanted to come to her defense either. Ginny fumed again.

"Well, she's thrust me off to a job, I don't know, disenchanting old books at the Ministry," Ginny said, remembering one of the titles of the brochures.

"I would think you would enjoy that," Hermione said. "It makes good use of Charms, which is your best subject, and after your first year you've always had a… thing… for enchanted books. I think McGonagall was wise."

Ginny winced as Hermione pronounced "thing". "I don't have an affinity for enchanted books, Hermione," she hissed, angry, "I am absolutely terrified of them since one possessed me and nearly killed me. Perhaps you can't tell the difference. And, as they say, the best defense is a good offense. So I've researched them. But I can't think of anything less appealing than spending every day being reminded of my near-death when I was eleven!" Realizing that Hermione could, quite simply, ask her why she then was getting Potions lessons from Tom Riddle, and seeing Ron open his mouth to probably ask that very question, Ginny changed the subject. "And besides," she said, "I want to be an Auror or play Quidditch. What's wrong with that?"

"Well, it is awfully dangerous to be an Auror," Harry offered.

"And you've only been playing on the house team since last year," Ron added. "It's not like you're professional caliber, Gin. Not like Harry here."

Ginny froze, feeling her knees buckling, but she resolved that she wouldn't let them know. She took a deep breath and disguised it as a reticent sigh. Something in the back of her head said that she couldn't keep everything bottled up forever, that presenting a false face to everyone was a losing proposition, and that if she really isolated herself like that she would explode, but mostly all she could think of was the fact that they weren't helping, and she didn't want to have an argument about it, she didn't want to be proved wrong, she just wanted her own opinion to be reinforced. When, and if, she didn't make the cut on any professional Quidditch team, well, she'd look into other options then. But she didn't have to do that yet – she had two more years at Hogwarts before that had to happen.

She could feel her resolve melting and her Occlumency failing, she could tell that Tom was probably beginning to be able to see through the veneer of her put-on thoughts, but since she wasn't thinking about how untrustworthy he was, she couldn't bring herself to care. After all, how much harm could it do to let him know that she was upset at people continuing to baby her like this?

"That's what McGonagall said," she responded, quietly. "Maybe you all are right. I just… there hasn't been a Quidditch player in the family in a long time, and I wanted to be different," she said vaguely. It sounded like a good enough reason. "And I've wanted to help out with the Order and you all since I got here, but I've never been able to properly, and I figured that as an Auror I could. I'll look at the pamphlets she gave me."

"Look, I'm sorry, Ginny," Ron mumbled. "I know how you feel, and you _are _different. Everyone knows that. You might not be a great Quidditch player, but that doesn't mean you're just another Weasley."

Hermione smiled warmly. "And not everyone can be an Auror, but you can fight dark witches and wizards even so. You can find something that fits your personality better than Auror training, I'm sure. I think you should really look into the disenchanting books route. It sounds fascinating."

Ginny tried to force a smile on her face, and left the common room in search of better support.

She found Luna in the library, at a table alone, studying. She sat down across from Luna and asked what Professor Flitwick had told the other girl about a career. "Oh," Luna said dreamily. "I'm helping my father with the magazine, of course. Traveling all over the world in search of Krumple-Horned Snorcracks and other interesting things. Why do you ask?"

Ginny almost laughed. Of course Luna was going to explore the world and write about it for her father after graduating. What else would Luna do? "Well, I've always wanted to be a Quidditch player, but lately I've felt like I should maybe rather be an Auror. But McGonagall snubbed me on both counts and wants me to spend my life behind a desk at the Ministry," she said in what she hoped were judicious tones.

Luna nodded. "Well, I don't know. Do you really want to be an Auror? I mean, you did well in the Department of Mysteries last year, but I couldn't imagine doing that every day. And why do you want to play Quidditch? Everyone wants to do that, after all."

Ginny frowned, unable to decide if Luna had just said she should choose something _more exciting _than working as an Auror or a Quidditch Player. It seemed like she had. And that baffled Ginny in the extreme. She nodded, thanked Luna for her advice, and walked slowly back up to the Gryffindor Tower.

No one seemed to grasp the scope of the problem. This wasn't just about Ginny's career, it was about all the exciting things always happening to Harry, it was about Harry being everyone's golden boy, capable of everything and anything, the star at, well, everything that Ginny wanted to do. _Harry _could be an Auror, Ginny knew. _Harry _could be a Quidditch player. _Harry _could do whatever he pleased, but she was locked up in a tower, for her own protection, or just another Weasley, never expected to amount to much of anything.

It was sickening. She had faced down Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries last year – grown up, trained Death Eaters when she was fourteen years old – and she had held her own. It was better than Ron, or Hermione, or Luna, or anyone but Harry could say. There they had been, she remembered, she and Harry, the two people who weren't wounded. And Harry had fought Voldemort, and she had gotten Ron and Hermione and Neville and Luna out safely, but that had been okay because of that wonderful moment when she, Neville, and Luna met up with Harry, Ron and Hermione, and it was clear that she was on a level with the great Mr. Potter.

Except no one actually believed that, did they? They didn't believe their eyes. They just denied it.

And Quidditch. She was a good seeker and an even better chaser, she caught the Snitch in her first actual game from right under the nose of a seasoned and experienced seeker. She didn't need coaxing and luck potions to do well like her brother, but just because there had been a vacancy Harry's first year – which Harry could, miraculously, fill – and not her first year, well, she was again pushed to the sidelines while the great Harry Potter stood in the limelight.

She wondered, for all these years, had she wanted to be _with _Harry, or had she wanted to _be _Harry?

It wasn't the sort of question one normally asked themselves.

She sat on her bed. Amelia was, for once, in the dormitory. She saw Ginny's weary face and asked her what the matter was, as condescending as any of the rest of them but Ginny was too shocked by her potential revelation to care, or even really notice. She explained everything.

"Have you talked to Tom about it?" Amelia asked cautiously.

Ginny snapped out of her thoughts. "No," she answered quickly. Of course she hadn't. Tom wasn't to be trusted. "Why would I?"

Amelia shrugged. "He usually knows what to say, is all, and you two seemed so close."

Ginny blinked, slowly, and then went to her desk to pull out the parchment Tom had given her. It was blank. She picked up a quill and dipped it in ink, realized this was the point of no return, that in all likelihood by taking this action she was betraying Hermione and Ron and Harry, and put pen to page. "Tom," she wrote. "If I told you I wanted to be an Auror, what would you say?" It wasn't long before she felt a wave of what she could only guess was relief pass over her. It was all going to be okay.

Tom was working on his advanced potions homework; he had to get it perfectly or risk even more of Snape's sneers and ire. He had covered a table in the Slytherin common room with books and notes and was finally nearing completion on his recipe for a quick-brewing version of the love potion Amortentia. He dotted the last I and crossed the last T with a fluorish, packed up his things, and returned to his dormitory. He pulled a piece of parchment from the middle of his Arithmancy text.

He was happy to say that he was no longer the least bit disappointed when he looked at it to find it blank. This project with Ginny had gone too far, after all, so far that he had lost track of himself in the mire. He had become soppy, soft, and an altogether disdainful picture of a man. But he had climbed out. And now he looked forward to the day that she would write – and he knew she would write; he could tell that her outer shell was breaking, that she couldn't keep up her Occlumency for much longer at the very least – because it would allow him the opportunity to get the upper hand. He could be patient. In the meantime he worked at his own skills at Occlumency and Legilimency (and discovered that he was, in fact, much more adept at the latter than the former). At the moment, he could tell that she was feeling angry, isolated, and disappointed. He wondered if it was a front. It hardly mattered.

He set the page down and began to reorganize his books and his notes. And when he stood up again, something was written on the page. He almost laughed for joy, and hoped that she would be too caught up in her own emotions to notice his. "Tom," the paper read, "If I told you I wanted to be an Auror, what would you say?"

He read it slowly, meticulously, and then sat down and studied the watermark. It was surprisingly detailed, but not really enough to go on – and not entirely trustworthy. However, his simple knowledge of how well Ginny was doing in Potions class and her constant fear of being babied made the right response evident enough. "That you should work harder on Potions, but that otherwise you would do well."

There was a moment before the words disappeared and were replaced, and Tom held his breath, hoping his calculation was right. "And if I told you I wanted to play Quidditch professionally?"

A needlessly dangerous career, perched firmly on the fence between childhood fantasy and real-life adult? Now she was fishing for an answer. "That sounds a bit more like you, and you would be superb."

No pause this time. "McGonagall told me that either career was too dangerous, and I was unqualified, and I should find a career pushing paper at the ministry, or at the very most disenchanting books or something," Ginny wrote. "Harry and Ron and Hermione and Luna all side with her."

Tom laughed merrily. Here she was, for two weeks she had cut him off as untrustworthy, and now she was just asking him to charm her. "Well," he said, "It would seem that they underestimate you, Ginny."

It worked. "I'm so sorry, Tom. I've been using Occlumency – or trying to use it – to isolate myself from you. Hermione thinks you intentionally botched the ward in Defense Against the Dark Arts, to let You-Know-Who in. She's spying on you, or trying to, and she has Neville and Luna helping her. I was helping her too. I don't know what she's looking for, or how she thinks she'll prove that you did it or that it was on purpose if you did, but you should really know about it so you can be on your guard. Not that I think you did it, but…" she trailed off, and Tom took his opportunity.

"Thank you, Ginny," he wrote. "I'll talk to Professor Quinn about the ward tomorrow. I don't know why Hermione hasn't already done that; she seems like a clever girl." He dipped his quill back in the ink and wrote, with a fluorish and a smile, "Thank you for coming clean."


	30. Confessions

**Disclaimer: **This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note: **And now my true colors as a H/G shipper (or a neutral shipper?) come out. Or do they? Thank you to Chucky1982 for the review (I agree mostly, although I must admit that I liked canon immensely and wouldn't give up DH for all the fanfic in the world). To everyone else: please review; it will make my day!

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 30: Confessions**

Tom didn't slouch on his promise to have Professor Quinn investigate the wards. The very next day, noticing that she wasn't present at dinner, he quickly swallowed his meal and made his way to her office. She was sitting at her desk, engrossed in a scroll, examining it through a magnifying glass larger than her head. The office was in disarray – books and scrolls scattered across her desk and all the shelves, piles of papers on the floor so dense Tom could barely see the floor beneath them. He wrinkled his nose in a bit of distaste. She had seemed so put-together, so organized in class. He supposed she got all the messiness out of her system in this room.

He cleared his throat and her head snapped up. When she saw who it was she smiled at him warmly and motioned for him to sit down in a chair currently filled with papers and books. Tom frowned and began to shift the pile to the floor, looking around for somewhere to put the papers. Finally he found places for the chair's former occupants and sat down. Professor Quinn was looking at him expectantly, so he cleared his throat and just cut to the chase. "Did you test Hermione's and my rune, Professor? Would you have known if it had backfired?"

Professor Quinn looked appalled, muttered something about of course she had, and then looked guilty. "No, Ophicus," she responded with a sigh. "I didn't think I had to – surely you and Hermione Granger could master an elementary ward between the two of you."

Tom felt his hands go numb with rage. He might have been shaking. What the bloody hell kind of professor wouldn't even test that the ward hadn't backfired? "You just pretended to knock on the door and attempt entry throughout the class period, to give us a good laugh?" He asked, trying desperately to remain calm.

Professor Quinn shrugged, as though now that she had confessed there was certainly no problem. "It was Christmas-time. We weren't going to get anything done anyway."

"What are you; some kind of child?" Tom snapped, appalled. Shouting at her helped. He imagined that terrifying her into desperate apologies would make him feel even better. He stood up and swept some of her papers off her desk, slamming his fists down. "You didn't even check to see if we had done something dangerous after _expressly _warning us against it? You didn't think to make sure that your fear was misplaced?"

"I assumed you would listen to my warnings, yes," Professor Quinn bit back, defensive, turning reflexively to try and start picking up the papers that Tom had thrown to the ground.

"We're students!" Tom shouted. "You're a professor! Of course we're going to break rules; especially when it's not a rule that we're breaking so much as a guideline. You told the two brightest students in their year, two students who have yet to see an honest challenge, not to try something because it was _too difficult_. And then you didn't bother to check up on them to see if they had tried it after all! What did you _think _was going to happen?" She wasn't looking at him; she was calmly cleaning up the portion of the mess that was her office which Tom had created. This infuriated him even more, but he could tell from the stony set of her jaw that he wasn't frightening her by his shouting, and physically assaulting a professor (which was his next idea) would get him in more trouble with Dumbledore than he wanted to imagine. Tom sighed angrily and began again in a calmer voice. "Honestly, Professor, it's like telling Harry Potter not to go to a certain place or he'll have to fight You-Know-Who, and then assuming he'll just stay away." He sank back into his seat.

Professor Quinn turned to face him and, to his chagrin, looked duly abashed. "You think that the ward backfired, I take it," she said calmly.

"Hermione is worried about it," Tom answered, somewhat mollified by her now business-like approach. Maybe she would fix it. If he were headmaster, she would be fired on the spot, or at least, she would be fired as soon as she had fixed whatever problems had been created, and possibly laid down her life for the cause as due punishment. But, alas, Tom Riddle would never be headmaster. "I've never botched a spell in my life; I think it worked exactly as planned. But I'd like someone to check it, just in case."

Professor Quinn nodded. "I'd be happy to."

"Good," Tom replied curtly, pulling out the stencil they had used. "It is, after all, your job."

He handed her the stencil and, without another word, left.

He had not expected to have to deal with such incompetence on the part of the Hogwarts faculty. But then again, he had heard that the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor was jinxed, and he supposed that perhaps it was hard to find good candidates for it.

Still, it was no excuse for such casual flaunting of good common sense. What kind of idiot wouldn't even bother to check the ward? Apparently, just the kind of idiot who was in charge of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

No wonder Lord Voldemort was on the rise; Harry Potter was probably a better Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor than Professor Quinn.

Tom shuddered at the thought and headed back to the Slytherin dungeon.

It was deserted. It took him a moment to realize that everyone else was probably at the Quidditch game.

Tom relished the empty rooms, spread out his books across a table in the common room, and began his studies. If he was Professor Quinn, he would examine the rune immediately, so Tom figured he only had an hour or so until he was called back into her office, until he finally had an answer to his question.

Tom had studied for maybe two hours when Professor Snape strode in to the common room and, with an annoyed expression, said "Why aren't you at the Quidditch game?"

"I never liked the sport," Tom answered curtly, barely looking up from his book.

"Professor Quinn wants to see you. And Professor Dumbledore. In the Headmaster's office," Snape said angrily and then strode out of the room.

Slowly, unruffled, Tom closed his books and rolled up the parchment he had been writing notes on, put them in a neat pile and carried them up to his dormitory for storage. That Snape was in a constant state of rage towards him was nothing new, and nothing to be concerned about, and he had expected Professor Quinn to summon him an hour ago, so there was apparently no rush. He calmly walked to the gargoyle that stood guard in front of the Headmaster's office, which he found conveniently open, and stood on the bottom step of the moving staircase, arms crossed and wand out, to be brought, in due time, to the door of Professor Dumbledore's office. He opened the door without knocking. Inside were Professors Dumbledore and Quinn, and Hermione Granger. Granger looked smug and self-satisfied, Professor Dumbledore's face was blank of all emotion save the tiniest of twinkles in his eyes and a quirk at the edge of his mouth almost reminiscent of half a smile. Professor Quinn was having a hard time concealing her mirth.

Apparently Miss Granger couldn't read faces as well as she could cast spells. Obviously, she expected Tom to be set up for a great fall. But nothing of the sort was going to happen. "Mr. Marvolo," Dumbledore began. "Professor Quinn brought your ward to my attention. It is really quite a feat of workmanship."

Hermione looked shocked, and disappointed. Serves her right, Tom thought. He hoped the professors noticed and called her out on her vindictive prejudice; assuming he had something to do with the horrors that were going on in Hogwarts this year. Professor Quinn spoke up. "Your ward appears to be perfect. I can't find a single thing wrong. Neither can Dumbledore. We went out to Hogsmeade to test it in safer conditions, and as far as we can tell it's perfectly functional. So unless you copied it over incorrectly," here she paused, and Hermione suddenly looked afraid – it had been Hermione that copied it over, "Which is unlikely with students of your caliber, you should both be very proud of your work."

Dumbledore smiled down at both of them, his eyes twinkling in that aggravatingly patronizing way. "You should both be proud; I've never seen anything of this level come from students of the sixth year. Congratulations."

And, suddenly and without warning, the part of Tom's mind that he recognized as being connected to Ginny Weasley erupted with fear, anger, and panic. He almost choked from it, but coughed a few times and managed to thank Dumbledore without anyone noticing (if they didn't notice Hermione's blatant disappointment that he hadn't been expelled, surely they wouldn't notice his slightly distracted appearance). Slowly, the feeling began to weaken. Hermione was looking at him strangely, as though she suspected something, but he brushed it off as her overactive imagination and tendency towards prejudice. Professor Dumbledore continued. "You were especially clever, Mr. Marvolo, for realizing that a failure in one of Hogwarts' wards could have allowed You-Know-Who entrance into the school and caused the... problems we have been seeing. With the other Professors, Professor Quinn and I are going to undertake a more thorough investigation of the wards around the school, to make sure they are all fully functional. Thank you for being so responsible as to bring this to our attention." Dumbledore glanced at Hermione pointedly, but only for a moment before he smiled warmly at Tom. So he had realized that Granger had figured out the same thing and didn't tell anyone. Tom almost laughed with glee seeing the stricken look on the girl's face, but he forced his face to remain calm, thanked Dumbledore, nodded to Professor Quinn, and turned with Hermione Granger to leave the office. He was about to turn to walk towards the Slytherin Dungeon when Hermione said, angrily, "How did you know?"

Tom turned and raised his eyebrows. He wanted to tell the obnoxious girl that he had figured out all about her game, and Ginny's game, long before, and had cracked her friend and gotten all of the details from the younger Weasley. But he assumed having Hermione criticize the girl would just turn Ginny against him again, and he wanted an informer in the ranks of the Gryffindors, at the very least. He mentally checked on Ginny; she was angry, furious, but not at him. Rather, her anger was focused towards Madame Pomfrey. He assumed she was caught in the hospital wing, with a Quidditch injury. All that for such a stupid sport. He turned to Hermione, and chose to be diplomatic. "How did I know what?" he asked.

"How did you know that I suspected you of botching the ward on purpose?"

"I didn't," Tom answered promptly. "Why would you suspect me of that?" Had the confession actually surprised him, he would have boiled over with rage. As it was, he was hard pressed not to shout at her, but he kept his cool.

Hermione just frowned. "You're up to something," she insisted. "I can tell. You're hiding something from me right now, and You-Know-Who is getting back into the school, and I know you're behind it. I just haven't figured out what you did yet. It wasn't the ward, fine. But you did something."

Tom felt his anger getting the better of him, but he reined it in at the last moment. "I don't know how to convince you Gryffindors," he said. He wanted to go to the hospital wing; this would be the perfect time to be little Ginny's knight in shining armor and cement his place in her trust. But he was stuck convincing Hermione, the daft fool, that he wasn't evil. "You fed me Veritaserum and heard me say that I had nothing to do with You-Know-Who, but even that isn't good enough for you lot. I'm flattered at how powerful you seem to think I am, but I must admit that I would rather you take me at my word."

Hermione paused. "Veritaserum?" she asked. "I never fed you Veritaserum."

"But your better two thirds did. The wonderfully righteous Harry and Ron did. Or didn't they tell you?" Tom laughed at the look of surprise on her face; the girl felt betrayed that Harry and Ron had a plan she wasn't let in on. "Oh, I guess the bonds of friendship don't stretch so far as telling your friends a discovery like my innocence. Were you planning on letting them in on your little suspicion?" Hermione looked even more hurt. And the anger in Ginny's mind was fading, Tom was missing his chance. He took a step toward the Hospital wing.

"You're sick," Hermione said after him, and he stopped, with a frustrated look on his face. "You're sick and you're evil and I'll figure out how you found out about Ginny's and my plan. I'll warn her – she won't come near you again, Riddle, she has better friends than you."

Tom had to laugh. "Plan? It wasn't a plan; it was a baseless accusation that you couldn't find a way to prove since it wasn't true. And I think Ginny is old enough to see who her friends are." He walked towards the hospital wing, and left Hermione behind him, hoping that he wasn't too late. She wasn't angry any more, he could tell that; in fact, she was greatly amused by something, but there was always a chance that paying her a visit would prove useful nonetheless. He slipped into the Hospital wing relatively unnoticed, and was wandering a bit when he heard her laughing on the other side of a door. He heard a deeper, male voice say something, and then more laughter.

Tom nearly cursed aloud. That fool Hermione had made him lose his chance.

A few hours earlier, Ginny was arguing about her fitness to play Quidditch that day. Harry and Katie wanted to follow Madame Pomfrey's orders, but Ginny was resolute about getting them to back down – after all, there was no reserve chaser. The Quidditch fans were getting more and more raucous as the Gryffindor team pushed the start of the game farther off. Madam Hooch was getting impatient and motioned to Harry to hurry up.

"We only have five minutes, Ginny," Harry said cautiously, one hand on Ginny's broom as if to take it away, "And we can't take you out or replace you in the middle of the game. Madame Pomfrey said you were to take it easy, and this isn't easy."

Ginny tightened her grip. "I'll be fine," she said through clenched teeth. "I haven't had a headache in a week now," she lied. "Besides, this game is important. We need a full team."

Harry looked unsure, but Katie put a hand on his shoulder, saying in a low voice that he had to trust his team; he couldn't micromanage on the pitch and he couldn't micromanage off of it. Harry frowned, conflicted, looked to the other members of the team, especially Ron. Ron spoke up, walking up to Ginny. "Gin, you can't play, you know it," he said. Then he turned to Harry. "Mum will kill us if she gets hurt," he commented.

"I'll do worse if you don't let me play," Ginny warned, eyes glinting with frustration and anger, and Ron turned to look at her directly in the face. "You've gone against Madame Pomfrey's orders tons of times, Harry. So have you, Ron. No one can see anything wrong with my head anyway; they're just being nervous busybodies. I'll be fine."

Ron tossed his hands in the air and told Ginny that if she got hurt he wasn't taking the fall with Mrs. Weasley, and Harry paused for a moment longer, as if wishing the elements would come down and make the decision for him, take the responsibility he desperately wanted to wiggle his way out of. And then he nodded his head and let go of Ginny's broom. "I don't think there's anything else to say," he said to the team in general. "Play well. Be on your guard. It's Slytherin."

And, with that, they filed out on to the pitch. Katie shook hands with the Slytherin captain, and Madam Hooch released the Snitch, and the game began.

Truth be told, it was a short, uneventful game. The passion and excitement of the students in the stands notwithstanding, Slytherin didn't have much to cheer for. Ron made an elegant save at the beginning, and Ginny and the Chasers had time to score only three goals before Harry was chasing the Snitch. In fact, by the end of the game everyone except the dismayed Slytherins was feeling rather bored with the entire process, and no one noticed when, just after Harry had caught the Snitch and Madam Hooch blew her whistle to end the game, one of the Slytherin Beaters hit a bludger directly at a cheering Ginny.

It hit her in the back and caught her unawares, and although she reached back for her broom she couldn't quite grab it in time, and she fell the ten feet or so to the ground below, knocking the wind out of her. Ron was there faster than Ginny would have thought possible, crying foul; shouting that the Slytherins should be disqualified from the Cup altogether or all get detention or otherwise be punished. Harry and Katie walked over more slowly, and the Slytherin captain landed, laughing with his teammates. Ginny shook her head and pushed herself up and insisted that she was fine, that she had just fallen and didn't need any help, it was no big deal, but then she saw the white-clad form of Madam Pomfrey and her heart sank.

"What were you _doing_, Miss Weasley, playing Quidditch?" Madam Pomfrey chastised as she walked up.

"I was fine! I haven't had a headache all week," Ginny lied weakly. "And I wouldn't have fallen if the Slytherin Beaters hadn't hit me after the game was over," she insisted with more enthusiasm.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "Your classmate Amelia told me two days ago that you needed an extra-strong pain relieving potion because you couldn't sleep for the pain. And it doesn't matter why you fell from ten feet, or if you fell from ten feet – for all we know, your headaches are caused by some bruise or hemorrhage that we can't find, and raising your blood pressure and heart rate with this game will be just what sets you over the edge and destroys your mind. Do you want to risk that?"

Ginny shook her head guiltily, but then remembered that her head hadn't hurt in the slightest since she started playing. She was about to open her mouth and tell Madam Pomfrey that the movement seemed to help her head, but the healer was already grabbing her wrist and escorting her back to the hospital wing, not hearing a word Ginny might say as she mumbled to herself about what a dangerous pastime these children took up, and why weren't they more sensible?

Ginny looked back, panicked, towards Harry and Ron. Ron had his arms crossed and his face masked in a distinctly "I told you so," expression. Harry looked a little bit more sympathetic, but apparently not enough to follow her to the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey installed Ginny in a bed and sent a house-elf to get Ginny's school work and then, still shaking her head peevishly, left Ginny with an admonition not to get up. Ginny stewed. This was just perfect, just what her mother would have wanted – Ginny holed up in the hospital wing, tucked into a bed, while the world moved around her. It was ridiculous.

She thought about getting up, but the door was locked from the outside and Ginny's wand was with her other things in the Quidditch lockers. She hoped someone on the team would realize that she needed her wand and her work robes and bring them to her, but she figured it would be much more likely that no one would much notice one way or another. There was a knock on the door, quiet and cautious, and Ginny didn't say anything because it wasn't as if she had a choice to let whoever it was in or not. The door opened with a click and Harry walked through, a bundle of old robes in his hand.

"I figured you would want these," he said with a bit of a smile. "If Madam Pomfrey ever lets you out of her sight again, they'll be useful."

Ginny felt her anger begin to evaporate. She smiled at Harry and thanked him. "She's sent a house elf to get my books; as if I was going to study here, or stay here long enough that I needed to study." Ginny sighed. "She's just what I needed, another mother."

Harry laughed a little and sat down near Ginny's bed. "She does it to everyone, you know," he mentioned off-handedly. "It's not just you."

Ginny forced a smile on her face. "Well, thank you for the robes. You can go back to the celebration at Gryffindor, now. I'm sure you'd rather be there than stuck in the Hospital Wing."

Harry shrugged and didn't move. "I hinted to Katie that maybe they should bring the celebration down here so the whole team could participate. I don't know if she picked up on it, though. I've spent enough time down here with my own injuries while everyone else was celebrating that I know how it feels." Ginny smiled. "Besides," Harry said with a blush, "Sometimes I get tired of being around Ron all the time."

Ginny laughed to see the guilty expression on Harry's face after such a small slight against his friend. "I wouldn't know it to look at you two – you get on like an old married couple."

Harry was amused, Ginny could see it in the slight glint in his eyes, but he feigned displeasure and just shook his head. "He's a good friend," he said, as if not to get caught badmouthing Ron, and Ginny took it as a hint that although they might be friends, they weren't quite that close yet.

Which was all right with her, she determined, since Harry Potter had proved himself to be a generally callous and unfeeling person over the past years; she reminded herself that Ron was a good person and a good brother and had probably been there for her far more often than Harry. "He's a good brother, too," she admitted.

Harry smiled. "He told me about your goal in the game against Ravenclaw. I was wondering about the score. Must have been amazing to see," He said.

Ginny felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Just because we have the best seeker in the school doesn't mean we can rest on our laurels," she said.

Harry laughed, and then he smiled, and the light in his eyes was one that Ginny used to pride herself at being able to catch. She continued. "Honestly, it's a shame you won't be going professional; I'm sure any one of a number of teams would take you in a heartbeat."

The light went out of Harry's eyes, and his face was stern. "I want to do something important," he said, "I want to make a difference. Quidditch is fun and all, but you can't reproach me for wanting to be an Auror."

Ginny just shrugged. "If you say so, Harry," she said. "And of course everyone wants you to do whatever it is you want to do," she said with more than a bit of bitterness in her voice.

Harry was frowning at her, not understanding her anger. "I don't see what you're upset about, Ginny," he said. "It's not like I think the path to be an Auror will be easy; Snape is bent on failing me, for one. But it's what I want to do so I'm doing it – this has nothing to do with other people."

Ginny laughed. "For you it doesn't, I guess. Besides, no one would dare stand in your way, or say anything was too dangerous. You're Harry Potter."

Harry stood up. "That's false and you know it. People have been trying to hide me, to get me to run away, to look out for my safety, since I was born. Everyone was always keeping secrets and making rules to keep me from endangering myself. But I just ignored that. You've got to have a thick skin about these things; if you can't stand up to a few professors telling you that Quidditch is too dangerous a career path, well, then maybe you just don't want to play Quidditch that much."

Ginny couldn't help staring, shocked. It was as if the clouds parted, and she could see again. If she wanted to play Quidditch, she would, no matter what anyone said – and that was what was expected of an adult. "You're right," she admitted. "Of course you're right." And then the light went out a bit and she realized he had completely taken the wind out of her sails, and she wanted to add that he was always right anymore, in a sickeningly righteous sort of way that just made it all harder to swallow. He was just too right. "But you told me yourself that I should take up a career in the Ministry. You sided with Hermione."

Harry sighed. "I didn't expect you to actually listen. Who cares what I think about it? It's your life."

Ginny laughed. "So you don't actually have anything against me playing Quidditch?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "Other than the fact I think you would make a great Auror, no," he said with a little smile pulling up the side of his mouth. Ginny started laughing from relief, and Harry sat back down. "Really?" she asked.

"I saw you at the Department of Mysteries last year. You did as well as Hermione did, and she's a world class witch a year older than you. And I know what happened your first year; you fought off You-Know-Who for a whole year, when I couldn't even for a few days. So yes, I think you'd make almost as good an Auror as I will, if I can ever pass Potions."

"We," Ginny said with a broad grin. "If we can ever pass Potions."

"I thought you had Riddle's help," Harry said. "He's better even than Hermione."

Ginny laughed. "Had being the operative word," she said. "When nothing bad was happening, I was perfectly willing to believe that he was innocent. But with these new messages from the so-called heir of Slytherin, Tom Riddle is the last person I want to be around." It was an easy lie to make, more an omission than a lie.

Harry nodded, but with a thoughtful look on his face, as if trying to decide what to say next. Finally, with a sigh, he turned to Ginny and said, abruptly, "Ron and I gave him Veritaserum." Ginny, of course, knew full well that Harry and Ron had given Tom Veritaserum, but if Harry was in the dark, and this was going to be some kind of confession, she was going to let him say his fill without bursting that little bubble. She said nothing. "He's not planning anything. Or at least, if he is, he was able to fool the Veritaserum. And I don't think there's anyone who can do that. Something is going on, but I don't really think it was him. Or at least, he wasn't behind the voice in the Great Hall. And even if he is up to something, it doesn't involve you – or didn't before Christmas. Ron asked him."

Ginny nodded very slowly. It was new information, surely. And if he had stood up to Veritaserum, it was likely that he really wasn't up to anything. "Does Hermione know this?" Ginny asked.

"No," Harry said quickly. "She would never speak to us if she knew we had done it; or worse, she would turn us in to Snape. The only ones who know are you, me, Ron, and Tom."

Ginny sat, motionless. She and Hermione had been wrong. They had been mistaken all along, and about everything. Tom wasn't up to anything terrible, he hadn't let You-Know-Who in, and what's more, they hadn't even been right about Harry and Ron's suspicions. "Then how do you think You-Know-Who got in?" she asked.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. The only other person who I know has been messing around with the enchantments on the castle is Dumbledore, and he wouldn't make a mistake like that."

Ginny shook her head. "So I can have my tutor back?" she asked. "Because that really is the most important bit of all of this," she added.

Harry laughed heartily. "I don't know. Maybe the Veritaserum didn't work. But there's no reason not to trust him as much as we did at the beginning of the year – or at least, for every reason he seems to have an alibi."

There was a pause in the conversation, and Harry looked up at Ginny and said, abruptly, "There's that Hogsmeade weekend in two weeks; will you come with me?"

Ginny froze, uncertain. This was, unquestionably, what she had wanted for quite some time. But she had never thought it would happen like this, with so little pomp and so little ecstasy on her side. Then again, that was probably just the small child inside her speaking out. She flushed, and nodded. "Sure, Harry," she said, "If Madame Pomfrey will let me out."

Harry laughed, and after a moment added, quietly, that he could not think of a more appropriate use for his invisibility cloak.


	31. The Date

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** This chapter made me laugh out loud several times while writing, and giggle while editing. I hope it does the same for you! Thanks to SaintRidley for the review!

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 31: The Date**

Madame Pomfrey let Ginny out of the Hospital Wing a few hours later, after making her promise not to do anything dangerous until she had been free of headaches for at least a week, so Harry didn't have to secret her out from under the Nurse's nose; although Ginny began to think that if he had been forced to do so, he might have conveniently forgotten. The Hogsmeade weekend had been canceled due to the still-unresolved threatening messages, and Harry hadn't said a thing about it, except leave a short note telling her to meet him in the Gryffindor Common room that Saturday morning anyway. Other than that, he hadn't said a word. Once again, she was peripheral, and while making her way back from Quidditch practice alone (again), with Harry and Ron a few hundred feet ahead of her and in quiet conversation, not bothering to look around, she decided that perhaps she would be best served to conveniently forget about it as well.

That was absurd, she scolded herself. She had wanted this – this, and nothing more, a date with Harry Potter – since her first year. What kind of fool would turn that down? And on the rare occasions when he did speak to her, it was in the friendly and happy sort of way that made her think she would genuinely like to speak to him more.

Of course, that was apparently easier said than done, and she wasn't one who thought that breaking in to her brother's whispered conversations with his best friend was a good idea. So she contented herself to know that on March the fourth, there would be plenty of time for talking. In the meantime, she had her studies to attend to.

And there were an awful lot of them. With O.W.L.s coming up at the end of the year, her classes were picking up to a frenzied pace, and she was just barely on top of Charms and Transfiguration – her two best subjects. She could tell that she was falling behind in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and almost wished she had the gumption to ask Harry for assistance (he was, everyone knew, stellar at it – even though his education up to this point had been remarkably pathetic). She had asked Tom for help with Potions, after all, and everyone knew Tom was the scary new Slytherin whereas Harry was her housemate, Quidditch Captain, and friend. Then again, she hadn't really asked Tom for help with Potions. He had practically forced it upon her.

Which should have been suspicious to her from the beginning, she thought mildly. But if Harry discovered that she was having difficulties in Defense and offered to tutor, well, she certainly wouldn't turn it down.

Not like that was going to happen, she reminded herself as she pushed open the door to the castle (which had closed completely since Harry and Ron slipped through it ahead of her). No, Harry Potter would most likely remain just as distant as he had ever been, notwithstanding his surprising desire to sneak off to Hogsmeade with her.

She would have hoped that he would start talking to her after that. But apparently that was too much to ask of the great Harry Potter.

She sighed and shook her head. This was ridiculous; she could see Harry and Ron making their way slowly up the stairs in front of her. Why was she moping behind them, annoyed that Harry wouldn't start a conversation, when she could catch up and start one herself? She ran to meet them and did when they were halfway up the staircase.

"Hey Ron," she said, catching her breath. "Thanks for waiting up for me."

Ron flushed a bit but then rolled his eyes and mumbled something about girls taking much, much too long in the showers to save face. Harry actually looked a little bit abashed. "Hey, Harry," she said as an afterthought.

"Hi," he said, dumbly, as though Ron's presence made it difficult to have the sort of conversation that seemed so natural in the hospital wing last week.

Then again, Ginny thought, Ron's presence _did _make things more difficult, more awkward, and more nerve-wracking. She didn't know for certain how Ron would feel about her flirting with (or, for that matter, sneaking off to Hogsmeade with) his best friend. He certainly hadn't taken kindly to Hermione's friendly relationship with Krum the previous year, and he had teased her mercilessly about her crush on Harry since her first year, just like the rest of her brothers. And her relationships with Michael Corner and Dean Thomas had been anything but welcome news.

She forced that thought out of her mind. It was, after all, a useless thought. She was going to do what she wanted, not for Ron or Hermione or Harry or anyone else, but simply because she wanted to. That was what being a grown-up was, right? At least, it seemed, that was what Harry and Tom thought being a grown-up was, and they were the only people who were really telling her anything about it. She squared her shoulders and wondered if they noticed. Probably, they didn't.

Ron cleared his throat awkwardly, and Harry kicked the stairs as he walked up them, and then finally said, in as hurried a voice as he could manage, "RonwantsyoutospyonRiddleforus."

Ginny blinked. "What?" she asked, not quite understanding what Harry had even just said.

"I still don't trust Riddle," Ron said bluntly. "I can't believe that he's really not plotting behind our backs. Harry was telling me that you're still getting tutored from him, and I wanted you to spy on him; I don't know, ask him if he has any idea what's going on. See if you can't get him to gloat about it."

Ginny paused on a step, forcing Harry and Ron to stop a few steps up and look down at her quizzically. "Veritaserum wasn't enough for you, Ron?" she asked.

Ron sighed. "Maybe he wasn't up to anything then," he said stubbornly, "But he's up to something now."

Ginny shook her head and sighed in frustration. "You gave him Veritaserum after people left for the Holidays. There haven't been any more attacks, or threats, or anything since then. The only reason you're remembering it is the Hogsmeade weekend was just canceled. Why would he be up to something now if he wasn't then?"

Harry's mouth quirked up in a smile, caught between agreeing with Ginny and supporting his friend. Ron didn't look over to notice, he just continued lecturing Ginny. "But none of this makes sense, Gin. Why would he offer to help you with Potions if he wasn't up to something? And the Parchment and all of it. I don't like you being at the center of all of this, but if you're going to be no matter what, and it seems you are, well, Harry suggested that we might as well treat you as an equal."

Ginny couldn't help but laugh at that. "Might as well?" she repeated. "One of these days, Ron Weasley, you'll learn that I _am_ your equal." Harry laughed, and Ron looked ashamed of what he had said, but quickly brushed it off. She started climbing the stairs again, and continued. "I don't know what he's up to either. I agree with everything you're saying. And I'm on my guard around him, trust me," she said. "I just think we're looking at this incorrectly. Isn't it possible he has some ulterior motive for seeking me out that has nothing to do with the threats on the school?"

They were silent for a moment, and then Ron said, "I'll bet he's doing it to get on our nerves."

Ginny almost laughed at the absurdity. "Ron," she said in a voice full of laughter, "Tom Riddle is not approaching me simply to aggravate you."

Harry laughed a little bit. "It does seem rather unlikely," he said.

Ron sighed. "Fine," he said. "But he's up to something."

"I'd want to apologize," Harry said quietly. "For the... chamber incident."

Ginny considered this. Certainly, that had been Tom's goal at first – to apologize for the events of her first year and get it off his chest so he could go back to being a slimy, disgusting Slytherin. But although she hadn't accepted his apology at the feast, she couldn't believe that his goal was still simply to apologize. "If he wanted that," she said, "he would just apologize and be done with it."

"Right," Ron confirmed immediately. "No one takes _this long _to apologize for something."

Ginny shook her head. They were approaching the Fat Lady, and soon they would be inside the Common room where this conversation would be inappropriate. "Why not let's drop it?" she said. "I'll keep an open ear, and I'll stay on my guard, of course, and I promise to come to you two if anything should happen. But it seems that you will know as soon as I do anyway. And it also seems that he's not really up to anything truly diabolical, or he wouldn't be wasting his time with me."

"Puffskien," Harry said quickly and the Fat Lady swung forward with a smile. "I agree with Ginny, Ron," he said as they entered the Common Room, and Ron looked put out but at least he didn't say anything.

Harry and Ron sat down to play a game of Wizard's Chess, and Ginny went up to her dormitory to pick up books to study from before meeting with Tom. She quickly picked up her Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions texts, a few spare rolls of parchment and a quill, and thundered back down to the common room. Heartened by her conversation with Harry and Ron on their way to the Common Room, she chose a seat nearby them and opened her Defense text to the chapter on enchanted books. She winced a bit and began reading, scribbling notes that seemed important.

It wasn't long before Hermione sunk into the chair next to her and took out a book of her own. "Have you two finished the essay for Defense yet?" she asked Harry and Ron, pointedly ignoring Ginny.

Ron mumbled something and Harry answered that no, he hadn't finished it, and that he would just as soon as he finished his game of chess. "All I'm saying," Hermione responded quickly, "Is that you could do with some more studying and a little less Wizard Chess. Take Ginny's example,"

Harry looked pointedly away, studying his pawns, and Ron turned to Hermione angrily. "What's with you, Hermione?" he asked. "Ginny would be playing if it was a three-player game, anyway." Ginny thought of protesting that no, she really did have to study, but it was pointless and Ron had already gone on, adding "Lighten up already!" by way of conclusion.

Ginny froze; she could feel Hermione's anger from across the table. "Lighten up?" she asked in a huff. "I'm looking out for your best interests, Ron Weasley, and you should know it. If you don't pass a single N.E.W.T., well, it certainly will not have been my fault."

Ron rolled his eyes and scoffed, and Ginny could tell that the best thing she could do was leave. It was almost time for her review session with Tom, anyway. So she slipped her books and parchments back into a satchel and stood up.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, probably more snappishly than she meant.

Ginny cleared her throat. "Study session," she said nervously. "I have my study session with Tom in the library."

Hermione frowned. "You're still having those sessions?" she asked suspiciously. "I thought you were going to stop."

Ginny shrugged her shoulders in as noncommittal a fashion as she could. "Well, he's not up to anything, is he?" she said by way of explanation. "And besides, my Potions marks were really suffering."

Hermione sighed in frustration. "You _need _to work on your priorities, Ginny," she said. "And I _told you _to avoid him. He's up to no good, I just know it."

Ginny stared at her blankly. "You and Ron should have a great time figuring out what that is, then," she said softly. "I'm going to the library, unless anyone else wants to criticize my behavior?"

Harry glanced at her with half a smile on his face, as if he knew exactly how she felt and wished he could escape as well. Ron shook his head and turned back to the game, but Hermione put her hands on her hips and stared Ginny down. "You never _listen_ to the people who care about you," she said with a sigh. "If you did, you certainly wouldn't go around with _him._"

Ginny was appalled. "What do you mean, Hermione? I'm going to a _tutoring session_. For the last time, that's all it is! How many times to you lot have to have that driven into your head? What's wrong with a tutoring session?"

Hermione snorted. "All I'm saying," she hissed, loud enough for everyone in the common room to hear "Is that if I had feelings for _Harry_, I wouldn't be getting Potions help from _You-Know-Who_."

Ginny winced, tears coming to her eyes. Harry and Ron were still pointedly studying the chess-board. "He's not... I'm not..." Ginny began, and found that the silence of the room, the shocked confusion of all of the students, was far too much for her to handle just then. She ran from the room.

And then Harry showed his true colors. "He's not _You-Know-Who_, Hermione," he declared, his voice calm. "He's Ophicus Marvolo."

Ginny, of course, didn't hear Harry, and so she thought that the entirety of Gryffindor thought she was getting tutored by Lord Voldemort in the best way to concoct _Felix Felicis_. She couldn't take it; how rude, how stupid and hateful, of Hermione, to actually say something like that!

They had found out at the beginning of the year that Tom wasn't You-Know-Who. And even if he _was_, or even if he _could have been_, well, it just wasn't something you tossed around the Gryffindor Common Room!

Ginny didn't know if she could face Tom like this, so full of righteous indignation on his part and her own. But she didn't have much choice, she noticed, as the argument had taken up the few minutes she had before her meeting with Tom. So she stormed into the library and flounced into a seat across from him (he was always early), and mistakenly pulled out her Defense text. It flopped open to the page on enchanted books.

He fixed her with a murderous stare. "I thought I told you I didn't have anything to do with that Diary, or with the side-effects of the parchment. Do you still not trust me?"

Ginny looked flustered for a moment, and then glanced down at her book, and realized her mistake with a good amount of embarrassment. "Oh," she said softly, and closed it carefully, pulling out her Potions text. "No," she mumbled, not sure how to begin. "No, Tom, I trust you – at least, as much as I can trust you, being a Slytherin and everything. That's just the assigned reading for Defense, I was doing it in the common room before I came here."

He looked suspicious. "That does not explain your unaccountable rage."

Ginny sighed and tugged at her ponytail. "It's Hermione bloody Granger," she said with a sigh. "Ever since the Quidditch game week two weeks ago she's been in a fit about something; snapping at everyone whenever she can, for next to no reason. She attacked me for 'going around with you' as if we're best friends and she as much as accused you of being the He Who Must Not Be Named in front of the whole Gryffindor Common Room. No one would even stand up for me when she said that!" Ginny shook her head. "But it hardly matters, I don't care what they think, they're a bunch of stupid codgers anyway."

Tom smirked slightly, laughed once, and then said, "Well, then, to Potions?"

"Yes," Ginny answered confidently. "And I've been reading ahead so I can ask you questions for next week as well; I'm afraid I can't make it."

Tom looked shocked. "What?"

"I'm... I'll be with Harry. Sorry; we made plans for the Hogsmeade weekend. When there was a Hogsmeade weekend." She didn't know why, but she felt unaccountably guilty about it. That was absurd; what did Tom care if he wouldn't be obliged to tutor her for another hour?

His face was devoid of emotion, though, and it frightened her. He had never done that before -- she was much better than he was at hiding what she was feeling. She wondered what was going on in his head. Was he rejoicing? Angry? "I was unaware you and Mr. Potter were an item," he said, simply, without emotion.

It was possibly worse than shouting at her. "Well, um," she said, again beset with that nervous awkwardness. What on earth was wrong with her? "We aren't. Or, we weren't. Until the Quidditch game, we weren't. But he came to visit me in the hospital wing after, and, well..." she trailed off, blushing pink. Tom was a Prefect, or had been, she didn't think she should tell him about her plan to sneak off to Hogsmeade when the weekend had been cancelled.

Tom nodded slowly, his face still a blank mask, and then said, "Well, perhaps that is what Hermione has been upset about."

Ginny frowned. That didn't make sense. Hermione didn't like Harry, she liked Ron – it was easily apparent to anyone. "I didn't think..." she began, and then immediately realized it was none of Tom's business. "Never mind. It hardly matters anyway," she said. "Just, I'll not be here next week. So I have a lot of questions now."

Tom laughed mirthlessly. "I imagine you do."

Later, in the Slytherin Dungeon, Tom Riddle stared at the parchment that revealed the inner workings of Ginny's mind without seeing it. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and it all came down to that girl.

He had told himself she was an interesting case study in recovery from a severe psychological trauma, but he had realized that was a lie. He had told himself he would use her, then, to take advantage of Harry Potter (should he ever need to do such a thing). By all accounts, his plan to weasel his way into her good graces for purposes of subterfuge and espionage was working as well as could be expected. She clearly didn't think twice about confiding in him the goings-on in the Gryffindor Common Room, and she also clearly thought he was innocent (and that, apparently, without proof as well). He should have been thrilled with her confidence (although it would admittedly have been better had she told him exactly _what _she and Harry Potter planned to _do _on the canceled Hogsmeade weekend). But that was just the thing.

The more Tom Riddle told himself he couldn't care less what Ginny Weasley's plans were for March the fourth, the more irate and frustrated he became that he didn't know exactly where she was going to be and what she was going to be doing.

And that was, simply put, absurd.

He threw himself into his studies with reckless abandon. Better to focus on them than admit he, once again, had to re-evaluate his plans. But he couldn't help thinking about them anyway. Maybe it would be best if he just avoided her altogether. Maybe it would be best if he called off his tutoring sessions. They were, after all, a relic from the time when he thought she would be an interesting experiment, and that time was certainly long over. Maybe it would be best for him to find a way to destroy the parchment, and thus the link between them.

Maybe this was just a symptom of her emotions leaking into his mind.

That was more likely, he decided. Her emotions, her infantile emotions of jealousy and confusion and lust were leaking into his mind, and he simply had to destroy the parchment in order to stop it.

Then again, he remembered, she had no reason to feel jealous.

So even if he destroyed the parchment and cut off the link, well, he might not feel confused or... or whatever else he was feeling towards her, but he probably would still feel jealous.

Which was the central problem to begin with, he knew, and so it was pointless for him to destroy the link which could only be used to his advantage now that he was more practiced at Occlumency and she was decidedly unguarded.

But part of him, a part that he had a habit of stamping out for being stupid, and ridiculous, and entirely unacceptable, still wanted to find a way to destroy the parchment once and for all. So that's what he was examining on the evening of the fourth of March, when he would have been advising Ginny on her Potions work.

It only seemed fitting.

He wasn't looking at the parchment. Or rather, he knew exactly what was on the parchment in fine detail, but he _wasn't _looking at it. She was enjoying her time with Harry. They were in Hogsmeade, at the Three Broomsticks. How they had gotten there without tipping off a Professor to their indiscretion was beyond Tom, for he had picked up the parchment after they were already in the town; although he knew enough to guess that Harry's invisibility cloak played a central role. They were talking about her brothers Fred and George, and their heroic pranks towards the end of the previous year. She was laughing heartily and sipping on her Butterbeer. She was about to suggest that they visit the shop (newly opened in Hogsmeade), but she was worried that her brothers would tease her for being out with Harry. Tom thought it a reasonable worry, and hoped that they teased her enough she regretted her decision.

He decided he had to stop looking at the parchment, and focused instead on the textbook open before him.

He had several options to destroy the parchment. Disenchanting them and tossing them into a fire would work nicely, or at least as nicely as anything, since they all required him to get his hands on Ginny's parchment. So it was next to useless for him to be reading about it anyway. He sighed, slammed the book shut (which earned him a glare from Madame Pince which he could only meet with a scowl of his own) and strode off to wander the grounds.

They were in her brothers' joke shop, and the twins were teasing them mercilessly, but offering them free chocolates, left over from Valentine's Day and shaped like hearts, which almost made up for it. Ginny knew better than to try them herself without proof that they were harmless, but thought she might give some to an unsuspecting Ron. Harry made the foolish mistake of eating one, and Ginny admonished him as the Twins began to snicker. But nothing happened, at least not anything that Ginny could tell. Harry grabbed her arm and they left the shop to return to Hogwarts as he whispered that she really should try one, they weren't enchanted.

Tom hastily folded up the parchment and put it in his pocket. He hoped Ginny had the good sense not to trust a chocolate made by her brothers for Valentine's Day, but somehow doubted that she did when it came to Harry Potter. He turned back to the castle; he would get no peace tonight no matter what he did, so he might as well not shiver outside when he could be inside and comfortable. It was late, anyway, long past dinner time, and Ginny would be back or her absence would be noticed soon, so he had no reason to continue his absurd jealousy.

He was halfway to the Slytherin Dungeons when he was accosted by Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. "What have you done with them?" shouted Ron.

Tom blinked, confused, and still mostly thinking about Ginny, Harry, and the potential properties of the Twins' chocolate. "What?" he asked.

"Harry and Ginny," Hermione answered quickly, just as furious as her comrade but considerably better at expressing herself despite her rage. "What have you done to Harry and Ginny? Where did you take them?"

Tom stared, dumbfounded, and discovered that the desire to laugh at the absolute absurdity of the situation was perfectly coupled with his desire to hex the two Gryffindors into oblivion. "They're on their way back from Hogsmeade," Tom hissed. Apparently, Harry and Ginny had kept their actions a secret from the rest of the dream team. Ridiculous.

Ron spluttered a bit, and Hermione just shook her head, grabbed Tom's wrist in one hand and Ron's with the other and began dragging them to Dumbledore's office. "Harry and Ginny are nowhere to be found," she said curtly. "There's been another attack. We're going to Dumbledore."

Tom wrenched his hand out of Hermione's grip and pulled out his wand. He wasn't going to be mothered by her the way she mothered Ron Weasley. He didn't have to take this from her. "We are _not _going to Dumbledore," he said, barely maintaining his calm. "And if you touch me again with your filthy hands I swear on Slytherin's grave I will kill you." Even he was surprised that he meant it, and he appreciated the fear that crept into her eyes.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been watching Ron. "_Expelliarmus!_" shouted the boy, and Tom was thrown down the hallway, his wand wrenched from his grasp. "I don't think so, Riddle," Ron said in as proud and brave a voice he could manage. "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

And Tom felt his body go rigid and fall towards the floor.

Hermione was pocketing Tom's wand and congratulating Ron on a job well done. Then she whispered "_Mobilicorpus_" and they trotted off together towards Dumbledore's office. They were standing beside the Gargoyle, trying to guess the password, when it happened.

In retrospect, Tom was, in some ways, glad that he was petrified. Suddenly, without warning and without explanation (although Tom guessed as to what had happened quickly enough), he was completely and totally overcome with giddy happiness.

_Ginny's_ giddy happiness. The emotion was not one he had ever felt; nor was it one he ever intended to feel. It pressed against the sides of his mind and if he had not been petrified he would probably have cried out from pain. The feeling was distinctly hers. He was worried he would be transported into her consciousness temporarily and would have to deal with the disgusting prospect of the tail end of a date with Harry Potter. He had read about that happening.

For once in his life, he told himself, he was lucky, and he was spared that horror. He was not, however, spared the pain of being taken up the revolving staircase to Dumbledore's office (whether they had happened upon the correct password or Dumbledore simply knew they were outside and could cause the gargoyle to move aside from his office Tom never figured out) or of confronting the headmaster. "_Finite Incantatem_" Hermione said begrudgingly, and Tom shook his head to try and get the feeling of Ginny out of it.

It was some use, the feelings abated slowly.

"Professor!" Ron had begun shouting as they walked through the door. "Someone attacked the Gryffindors! Harry's nowhere to be seen and neither is Ginny and we found _him _wandering around outside your office."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "What would you like me to do about this, Mr. Weasley?"

"Expel him! He's up to no good, Professor!" Hermione chimed in.

Dumbledore sighed but his look was still entirely amused. "And if he had nothing to do with the disappearance of Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley?"

"He's still up to no good," Ron responded without a second's pause.

Tom forced himself to think clearly, think around Ginny's emotions. It was a difficult proposition. He laughed. "Clearly you can see, Professor," he said as calmly as he could, "That these two poor excuses for students are accusing me out of a ridiculous personal prejudice and without any real evidence."

"You threatened to kill Hermione!" Ron shouted.

Dumbledore's expression dropped from one of amusement to one of stern consideration. "Is this true?" he asked.

"She grabbed my wrist and was pulling me up here, as if I was a misbehaving child," Tom responded proudly. He had been in the right; if that disgusting excuse for a witch hadn't been so overbearing and self-righteous as to do that, he would have treated her with all the civility in the world; as evidenced by his treatment of her up until this point. And, as though his own rage were enough to fight off whatever Ginny was feeling (and he could scarcely say how thankful he was about it), the giddiness stopped. He could focus again, and he stared Dumbledore straight in the face. The Headmaster was not pleased.

"That is no excuse to threaten death, Ophicus," Dumbledore scolded, and the way he said it, it almost seemed true. But Tom knew that Dumbledore favored the Gryffindors, and he also knew that the one thing that would make him happy would be to be left alone, and the only way to ensure Hermione Granger would leave him alone would be to dispatch her quickly.

"Well," Tom said seriously, "If she doesn't want me to threaten her, she shouldn't treat me like I'm her enemy." He calculated his options. He could admit that he knew she had called him You-Know-Who, in which case he gave up some of the surprise that Ginny had been reporting to him on their actions, but which would almost certainly justify him acting the way he did. He could simply say that she had been alienating him for long enough, and that if she honestly wanted him to be forgiving she might at least behave as if she expected it of him, which got the same message across without giving away any secrets. It would be best to play close to his chest. "She thinks I'm teaming up with the Dark Lord, if I'm not You-Know-Who himself. If she treats me like a sociopathic murderer, why is she surprised that I begin to act like one?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Miss Granger, I have told you on several occasions that we have no reason to doubt and every reason to believe in the good intentions of Mr. Marvolo. Perhaps something has come to your attention that you believe I have overlooked. Do you have anything to tell me?"

Hermione squirmed in her shoes. "What was I supposed to think, Professor? There was another attack – we couldn't find Harry or Ginny, and then we find him wandering the hallway on the way to your office. Who else would target Ginny?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Nonetheless, Miss Granger," he began, and then the door was slammed open by none other than Ginny Weasley herself. Tom imagined Harry wasn't far behind, but didn't want to think about that very much.

"He didn't do it!" she shouted.

Ron and Hermione just stared. "What?" Hermione asked.

"Whatever you're accusing him of. He didn't do it. He's innocent." She paused, and caught her breath. "Or, well, he's probably not innocent. But he's not guilty of this either."

Dumbledore looked as though he was about to burst into laughter. "So Mr. Marvolo did not in fact abduct you and Mr. Potter?" he asked, as Ron turned to his sister and demanded to know where she had been.

"Harry and I," she began, and her ears began to turn pink, "Harry and I were in Hogsmeade. We snuck out under his invisibility cloak." She glared at Ron as though she could seriously injure him on the spot for demanding an explanation in front of Dumbledore himself, but then examined her shoes and said in a rather small voice, "I'm sorry, Professor."

It was then that Tom realized what exactly was going on. She was putting herself on the line for him. She was willing to tell the truth and take a fall when she could easily have said nothing and he would have been an easy, and obvious, scapegoat.

It was the sort of thing only a Gryffindor would do; stupid but chivalrous. And for the first time in his entire life, Tom was glad that he knew a Gryffindor who didn't hate him.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well," he said quietly and with a bit of the old grandfather in his voice, "It would seem that we have discovered who spirited away Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley." His face grew grave. "However, I would remind you, Miss Weasley, that sneaking outside of the grounds, especially when there have been attacks in the school, is not in any way acceptable. Ten points will be taken from Gryffindor for each of you, and you can report to Filch for a detention on Friday next." Ginny nodded bravely, and seemed (to Tom's eye) almost relieved that the punishment had not been worse. "Mr. Marvolo," Dumbledore said, turning to Tom. "Might I remind you that, although it is certainly frustrating to have to deal with continual accusations, this is in no way a reason to threaten one's fellow students. Ten points will be taken from Slytherin. You can report to Filch next Friday as well."

Tom scowled. Ron looked victorious and Hermione seemed to think this was good, but not good enough. Ginny cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Professor? Would you mind if I left?"

Dumbledore laughed again, said that he didn't imagine there was any more business here, and bid them all goodnight. Ginny practically ran from the room as fast as she entered, and was certainly gone before Tom could thank her for admitting what had happened.

He realized, when a faint unwelcome echo of Ginny's earlier joy bounced around his head, that any thanks would be out of the question after he shared a detention with her and Harry Potter.


	32. Jealousy

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note: **And now, what you've all been waiting for (I think). Some good, old-fashioned Tom/Harry action! Er... if you believed me, perhaps you have the wrong fic. Or the wrong author. Also, this past week I finished writing this, epilogue and all! So, in case you were wondering, there are thirty-nine chapters. And I will try very hard to post at least one each week from now until I am done. Thanks to jjp91 and SaintRidley for the reviews, and everyone for reading!

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 32: Jealousy**

"Why did you do that, Ginny?" Harry asked as they made their way to Filch's office after dinner. "You didn't have to say anything; Dumbledore must have known that Tom didn't have anything to do with our disappearance, and so all you've done is gotten us in trouble too." He sighed in frustration, and in his demeanor was the unspoken complaint, "I could have been playing Chess with Ron, or spending time with my two best friends, but instead I have detention with you and Tom Riddle."

Ginny tried not to let it bother her. "You would have done the same thing, Harry," she said under her breath. "Why wouldn't Dumbledore believe Ron and Hermione?"

Harry laughed bitterly. "Because Ron and Hermione are always wrong about things like that! Right up until the end, Ron and Hermione and I never really understand what's going on. Dumbledore is always much closer to the right answer than we ever get."

Ginny just shook her head. "Well, it's done, and it was the right thing to do, and you know it even if you're complaining about it, and there's nothing we can do about this so you might as well be civil."

Harry rolled his eyes and muttered something, but they were at the door to Filch's office and so they stopped their conversation. Filch opened the door with a surly, put-upon expression on his face. "We're here for detention, sir," Ginny said in as placating a matter as she could manage.

He scowled at them but held open the door to let them in. Ginny entered with bated breath – what were they going to do for detention in Filch's _office_? – and she heard Harry stepping cautiously behind her. "Where's the other one?" Filch growled as he shut the door.

"What?" Ginny asked, before realizing what he meant and adding, "Ophicus is in Slytherin – we don't know where he is."

Filch grumbled something about tardiness and slouched at his desk. Harry was staring at the floor and shuffling his feet. Ginny sighed. Nothing for it but to remain and wait for Tom.

"Of course he's late," Harry muttered. "I'll bet he doesn't show at all."

Ginny was about to say "That's ridiculous, Harry," when there was a knock on the door. Filch opened it to reveal a rather surly-looking Tom, and then motioned for Harry and Ginny to follow him. They walked through the hallways in gruff silence for a while, until Tom said, under his breath, "I suppose your little _date _made all this worth it?"

Ginny was taken aback by the hatred in his voice, and said nothing. Harry spoke up, whispering "It's not our fault you're up to no good, Riddle," in response. "At least Ginny was kind enough to bail you out."

Tom snorted, as though he was better off without such help. Ginny bristled at the tension between the two boys. She knew Harry didn't actually believe Tom was scheming anything. "Harry, you know he's not up to anything," she said, hoping to calm everyone down, but it only made matters worse.

"He certainly should," Tom spat. "Isn't Veritaserum proof enough for you, Potter?"

Harry's jaw clenched, but Filch turned and shouted at them to keep quiet before he could say anything, and they were all three cast into sullen silence. Ginny sighed. This was not going to be pleasant.

They arrived at the site of their detention; fittingly enough, Moaning Myrtle's bathroom had flooded again, and they were to clean up the mess. Ginny almost wanted to protest that she _wasn't _going back in there; especially not with Dumbledore's charm that kept anything inside from getting out, but Filch shot her a glare so angry that she shut her mouth before any words came out. He handed each student a mop, informed them that they weren't to use any magic, and left, complaining that this was far too lenient a punishment for such miscreants.

Ginny set her jaw and began to mop. When she didn't hear anyone joining her, she sighed angrily and said, "Bloody hell, can't you two set aside your hatred for _one minute_ and start mopping? The sooner this is over the sooner we can all just _get over it._"

Harry reluctantly began mopping, and Tom might have muttered something under his breath so Ginny shouted, not looking up from the area of the floor she was attending to, "Mop!"

She heard another thud as Tom began to clean up. They filled one bucket with disgustingly brown water before anyone had to say anything, and for that Ginny was glad. "Someone should go in there and empty out the bucket," she said sullenly.

Harry sighed in frustration, but passed Ginny a sympathetic look as he picked up the bucket and went to empty it out in the bathroom. Ginny sighed and leaned back against the wall, muscles aching. At least they were making progress; she couldn't wait for this detention to end. Maybe they could just stay silent for the rest of it and no one would get any more riled up than they already were. "Was it worth it?" Tom asked.

Ginny looked up at him sharply. He was leaning on his mop, a sour expression on his face. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"Was it worth it?" He hissed. "Was your torrid little love affair with Mr. Potter worth getting yourself detention and dragging _me _into it?"

Harry returned with the bucket. Apparently Dumbledore's enchantment had been temporarily lifted. Ginny didn't know whether to be reassured or frightened by that. She fell silent, returning to mopping with a certain vehemence that she knew was uncalled for and would only result in her muscles aching more the next day. Tom didn't dare ask the question again when Harry was around, and so joined her in mopping, with only slightly more decorum. _Was it worth it_? Of course it was worth it. What an idiotic question! She had been waiting for it for five years, and damned if she wasn't going to put up with one stupid, miserable detention for it. No matter how miserable Filch, and Tom, could make this detention, it would have been worth it. Of course it was worth it.

Of course, she had also cut it short for Tom – he should be thanking her, really, for that – and she didn't regret that either, not for a moment, not when Harry was complaining or Ron was yelling at her for barging in right when they were going to get Tom run out of the school, but that hardly mattered. Of course it had been _worth it_. What was Tom playing at, asking her if it was worth it? She slammed her mop into the bucket and splashed the water out onto the floor. Tom glared at her for a moment, and then returned to his mopping with a muttered, "I hope you intend to clean that up," that just made her more angry. She did, jerkily and with too much force, and then returned to the puddle in the hallway.

What was Tom on about, anyway? This was ridiculous. Why did she feel she had to make an account of her emotions to him? The idea was patently absurd. She hated him. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She didn't hate him, but she certainly wouldn't call him a friend, and to have to justify your choices and emotions to a mere acquaintance, well, that was flat out intolerable! Was it worth it? What business was it of Tom's if it was worth it or not?

And what did Tom care if she thought it was worth it or not? She was absolutely confident that her feelings toward Tom Riddle were entirely mutual. So his question "Was it worth it?" was really a jibe, an implication that it certainly wasn't worth it, and an accusation that she had gotten him into this mess in the first place, and it should be her job to get him out, and that she hadn't done a good enough job of that.

Which was flat-out ridiculous, if you asked Ginny. She frowned and snorted as she mopped. She had saved him from being expelled, and if he had been just a little bit less aggravating and scheming, if he had done anything to extend an olive branch towards Ron or Hermione, well, he wouldn't have been in that position to begin with! Hermione had once trusted him; he must have done something to deserve her distrust, and Ron, well, Tom had only ever treated Ron with the utmost disdain. So it was his fault, making enemies like that. Of course his enemies would blame him when something suspicious happened. What did he expect? Was he an idiot, expecting that the people he disdained and leered at wouldn't suspect him when faced with a problem? Merlin's beard, was he demented in addition to being callous and cold-hearted?

She almost knocked into Harry in her vehemence, and he jumped out of the way and shouted "Gin!" whether as a warning or an exclamation she didn't know. "Calm down, Ginny," he said under his breath. "What's gotten into you?"

Ginny looked up into Harry's face and saw the concern etched in his features, and almost broke down. "Nothing," she whispered. "Sorry, Harry."

She heard Tom snort, and felt a jolt of anger, but took a deep breath to calm herself down and began mopping more sedately.

It occurred to her, then, that even if Tom's question was not intended simply to needle her into anger, it was still an unaccountable question for him to ask. "Was it worth it?" Was it worth it to her to go through a miserable detention to be with Harry, or had she been caught with a disappointing surprise on March fourth? And what did Tom care for that? Certainly, he didn't. He was a Slytherin, and heartless, and always had been, just like the rest of his house.

Something inside Ginny protested that this was, at base, false. Surely at some point in the long history of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry there had been a good Slytherin. And surely, at the beginning of the year, before the messages had come and everything had gotten so... so complicated... surely, then, Tom had seemed to be one of the rare good eggs. Just look at how popular he had been with the Gryffindor girls. How much Amelia liked, and trusted, him. Amelia wasn't stupid, she wasn't easily taken in; she was one of the brightest witches in her class. Ginny knew that Tom was a first-class actor. She knew that Tom could charm just about anyone, but something about all of it just seemed a little bit too sincere for her to brush it off completely.

Which brought her back, predictably, to his question; "Was it worth it?" Was it worth it? She looked at Harry, diligently mopping away at the mess, jaw tight in anger. She looked at Tom, in an altogether similar disposition. She turned back to her mopping.

Of course it was worth it.

There simply wasn't any use in doubting that. It was neither the place nor the time.

They moved into the bathroom, and Ginny emptied the bucket into a sink. She shivered as she stepped over the threshold, and Harry glanced at her with concern, but Tom laughed. "Come on, nothing's going to bite you," he said, with a bit of a sneer.

Ginny said nothing, just began to mop. "I'd have a little more consideration if I were you," Harry muttered.

"Consideration?" Tom asked, appalled. "Consideration? Why should I show consideration to the two people who landed me this blasted detention?" He set his mop aside. "Why should I show consideration to two idiotic Gryffindors, who think their personal, petty little romances are worth making everyone else miserable? Why should I show consideration to a girl who couldn't pass Potions if her life depended on it, but still thinks that a date with her precious little hero is worth more than my time helping her in her desperation? Why should I show consideration?" Tom looked ready to start throwing hexes, and Harry looked close.

"What are you angry about, Riddle?" Harry asked, a cocky smile on his face. "That you have detention because of us or that she chose me over you?"

Tom pulled out his wand, and so did Harry, and Ginny was sure they were going to duel right then and there, and possibly hurt each other and get stuck in the hospital wing all because they were being incredibly stupid about all of this, but something Harry had said froze her to the ground so solidly that she couldn't do anything but watch wide-eyed.

"I've had it with you, Potter," Tom shouted in a fury. And then he shouted "_Stupefy!_" at the same instant that Harry shouted "_Expelliarmus!_"

The spells clashed midair and dissipated and Harry and Tom looked like they were going to go at each other again when Ginny shouted "Stop!"

Her words bounced around the bathroom. "If you keep dueling, you'll get us all landed another detention," she said tensely. This was just too much. She was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to finish the detention and crawl back up to the Gryffindor fifth year girls' dormitory to sort it out. Maybe sleep would help her sort it out. She doubted it. But it wasn't worth it, it wasn't worth this fighting, nothing was worth this fighting. She didn't want to deal with it. "Let's just try to survive this one, and then you two can kill each other for all I care," she said.

Harry open and shut his mouth like a fish, apparently desperately trying to find something to say, but Tom smirked and turned back to mopping. They finished in silence, delivered their mops and the bucket back to Filch's office (he sneered at how long it had taken them), and returned to their respective dormitories. Ginny didn't even wish Harry good night before climbing the stairs and slumping onto her bed.

She pulled out her parchment, stared into it. Tom's emotions were mostly a scribble of red and black, violent and angry, furious and constantly in motion. Ginny could almost picture him pacing in the Slytherin boys' dormitory (which she imagined, naively, was exactly like the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, except with silver and green hangings instead of red and gold), fuming. She started to make out names in the scribbles, her name and Harry's name but also Tom's own. So he wasn't just angry with her, she decided, or just angry with Harry. She pulled out a pen. _I'm sorry, _she wrote at the edge of the page.

The angry scrawl halted, faded slightly, and then her words disappeared and new ones appeared. _What?_

_I'm sorry,_ she wrote again. _I'm sorry for getting you in trouble. I didn't mean it. I didn't think Ron and Hermione would jump to those conclusions. I thought Harry had told them. He usually does._

The words disappeared again and there was a long pause. _I'm honestly sorry, Tom,_ she wrote again, as if repeating it made it more believable.

_What do you want? _Came the answer, eventually.

Ginny sighed. She wanted him to calm down. His fits of anger frightened her, reminded her of the Tom she knew her first year, of You-Know-Who. She wanted him to be more like the stubborn, proud, ambitious, but essentially good person she thought existed at the beginning of the year. She didn't want to be caught the fool twice. She didn't think she could say that, though, or at least if he could understand that it would be better understood by reading her thoughts on the parchment, where the suitable level of ambivalence and confusion was apparent. So instead she wrote _I don't know. _The words were gone as soon as they touched the page. _I don't know,_ she repeated herself, and then added _I don't want you to be angry._

_You can't stop me from being angry, Ginevra_, Tom responded quickly.

Ginny winced. She knew that. Essentially, she had known that all along. But that didn't mean she had to accept it. _I can try_, she wrote. No answer appeared. She kept going. _You know you're being a fool, Tom. You're letting something get under your skin when it has no right to. It's over, and it won't happen again. So you can calm down now, Tom._

She meant the detention, but she hoped that leaving it open to interpretation would help. _What do you mean? What's over?_

No such luck. _The detention, _she wrote quickly. _And the date. I don't know if Harry will even speak to me after this anyway. So if that's what you wanted, _(here she wanted to add "to spoil my happiness," but she thought that would be a bit too maudlin,)_ then you should be happy. _She sighed as she wrote it. Tom didn't respond, and the words were slow to leave the page. _I have to study, _she finally wrote.

And with that she placed the parchment delicately at the bottom of a shelf, picked up her Transfiguration text, and began to read.

She couldn't concentrate. As much as she tried to push thoughts of the date and the detention out of her mind, they came back unbidden. _Was it worth it?_ She could almost picture Tom writing it, pulling it out of her memory and her subconscious. _Well? Was it worth it? Was your time with Potter so stupendous that it was worth that detention?_

She ran a hand through her hair. She had control over her own thoughts, she told herself, and tried to fill her mind with Potions, the proper proportions of lacewing flies in different sorts of lightening draughts. _Fifth year studies are boring, trivial,_ she thought – or was it Tom? She couldn't tell – _who can concentrate on it for longer than a few seconds, anyway? _She sighed and tried to throw herself into the text book, to no avail. _Was it worth it?_

_Was it?_

She pulled out the parchment and a quill and scrawled, hastily, _If you can read my mind, Tom, why don't you do it?_

She swore she could hear him laughing in the back of her head. _He'd rather hear it straight from me, _the thought bubbled up in her mind. _He wants me to admit the date wasn't all I wanted it to be. _

She sighed angrily. _It was wonderful, Tom, _she wrote. _It was worth every moment of that detention. And if you don't leave me alone, I'll force you to hear all the details. _

She felt like a heel. She knew she was a liar, and she couldn't get that out of her mind. She tried Occlumency, tried to empty her thoughts and present an act, but he was already needling around with her thoughts and he ruined her concentration. _Stop it! _She scrawled on the page. _Stop it this instant!_

Again she heard his laugh in the back of her mind. He found this amusing, he found it enjoyable. She had a few choice words for that, but before she could write them down on the page, another thought came into her head. _He'll stop, _she thought. _He just finds it amusing, really. He'll let me continue with my self-denial as long as I like. _

Ginny scowled, and put the parchment away, and though she could hear Tom's amused chuckle in the back of her head well into her Transfiguration studying, he didn't interrupt her again.

It wasn't until they met on the following day, to review Potions, that she questioned his newfound telepathic abilities. "What's with you, sneaking in to my head like that?" She asked by way of salutation.

Tom just raised one eyebrow. "You were ignoring me," he said calmly.

Ginny shook her head. "You should get used to it. Everyone gets ignored sometimes."

"I don't," he said, with more of that icy calm that set her teeth on edge. "No one would dare."

Ginny just raised her eyebrows. "Except me," she said, and tried to grin, tried to make it a joke. It almost worked.

With a sigh she pulled out the Potions text, and they went through several examples. It was entirely business-like. In an hour, they had covered the chapter, and Ginny got up to leave, smiling as best she could at Tom. To be honest, his question (and Harry's aggravating response) had been dogging her all day, whether by Tom's determination or not she hardly cared. "Why do you care if it was worth it, anyway?" she asked as she picked up her bag.

Tom was silent; his face devoid of anything Ginny would call humanity. He was considering his response, obviously, which meant he probably wasn't going to be honest. "It was quite rude of you to cancel on me," he finally said.

"It was a Hogsmeade weekend!" Ginny snapped.

"It had been canceled," Tom responded quickly.

Ginny sighed. "You can't be angry about that. If you were angry about that, you would be angry with me and not Harry. But you were angry with Harry, too, so you're hiding something from me," she said. He didn't respond. It hardly mattered. She screwed up her courage and said, "And to be honest, Tom, I don't care anymore. It was worth it. It was bloody well worth it, and that's all the answer you get." She shrugged her bag onto her shoulder and looked at him with an exhausted expression. "So stop asking me!"

With that, she strode out of the library and didn't even notice that he had followed her. She didn't notice until he grabbed her wrist and flung her against a wall, pinning her down. "Tell the truth!" he hissed.

She just glared at him. "Get off of me," she said.

"Not until you tell the truth," he repeated.

"I _am _telling the truth," she insisted. "Now get off of me!"

He didn't move. His eyes glinted with fury and she felt her stomach quake a little, but she stood tall and jutted her chin out in defiance. "I can tell when you're lying, Ginevra," he said deceptively softly. "I can tell when you're false. I can see _right through you, _into all of your schemes and plans and pitiful deceptions. It's no use trying to fool me. So tell the truth."

She didn't say a thing. There was nothing more to say, and she only hoped she could beat him in a contest of who was more stubborn.

She expected him to stare her down, to pull out his wand and threaten her, to shout and scream and terrify her, possibly even try to strike her. Any of those, she would have been ready for. She wasn't ready for what he did.

Perhaps she should have expected it, with his anger at Harry and his insistence that she tell him the date had been, essentially, a bust – wonderful and friendly but without any spark (except what she assumed was either a very strong alcohol or a very temporary love potion in those chocolates). But more likely it was understandable that she didn't see it coming, because who could see something like that coming from someone like _him_?

It was inconceivable. It was incomprehensible. But nonetheless, it was true. Tom Riddle kissed her.

It was a violent kiss, the kind that she thought would leave a bruise, the kind that was meant to prove something and assert something, not at all like when she had snogged Harry a week ago. It was angry and vindictive and told her that he had run out of other options. She felt her head bash against the wall and wondered if that would make her headaches worse. She tried to move her arms to push him away but they were still pinned to her sides. She couldn't move.

And, truth be told, Tom wasn't very good at this at all.

She almost laughed at that thought, and then it was over, and he was striding down the hallway, all fury and anger and who-knew-what else, and Ginny almost doubled over in laughter.

Oh, this was almost too hilarious to be true. Tom _had _been jealous. Imagine that.


	33. Ginny Simply Loved Me

**Disclaimer: **This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** So I've been waiting to do this chapter pretty much since the beginning of the story. It's the hinge upon which it all turns. And I've finally done it! And I'm not horribly disappointed with how it turned out!

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 33: Ginny Simply Loved Me**

Tom stormed down to the Slytherin common room and strode angrily to his dormitory, nearly ripping the drapes off his four-poster as he pulled them shut. How could she? How _could _she? No one had laughed at Tom Riddle before in his life, and no one would laugh at him again.

_This is what I get, _he thought, _for trying to be a Gryffindor. _He suddenly realized that, all year, he had been attempting to be a friendly, warm-hearted, and beloved Gryffindor. He had wanted Dumbledore's approbation to turn him into something that Dumbledore could actually be proud of; namely, Harry Potter. But Tom Riddle _wasn't _Harry Potter, and everyone knew that Tom Riddle wasn't Harry Potter, and so why the hell was he trying to be something he, obviously, wasn't? It was sickening. He was ten times, a hundred times, better than Harry Potter at everything that mattered; he was smarter and cleverer and more powerful, more studious and more charismatic when he had to be. He had charmed the entirety of Slytherin in his time there (originally, at least) and if it weren't for Dumbledore and his ridiculous desire to do right by the old man who had trusted him, well, he could have charmed the entirety of Slytherin (and much of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw as well) again. By doing it his way, which was cunning and dishonest, perhaps, but at least it worked, as opposed to this.

No one trusted him; Dumbledore's obscene faith in him had gotten him nowhere with anyone else. He was reviled by not only the Gryffindors (which he should have expected, honestly), but the entirety of the school. And the one person who, it seemed, had a chance of not overtly hating him thought him a joke.

Tom Riddle a joke.

Hatred, from a Gryffindor, he could handle. Hadn't he, in his first five years at Hogwarts? The houses hadn't changed that much over time. Hatred and disdain, although ridiculous and uncalled-for, were things he could deal with. They were tied up in fear and that could be nursed into the kind of doe-eyed reverence that he thrived upon. Curiosity, he could accept – that could easily be charmed into wonder. He had never had friendship, had never had respect, had never had anything Dumbledore would say was a positive interaction with another person, and curse the old man that had made him think, for a moment, that he would want those things.

He couldn't have friendship, couldn't be _liked _for _who he was_. He was a Slytherin, and he knew enough about Hogwarts to know that no one trusted, or liked, a Slytherin. You gave them your respect, admiration, and cringing loyalty. That was all Tom could expect.

Honestly.

What had Dumbledore done to him? That old fool, it was his fault, making Tom's life the living Hell it had been. He had put together these stories to make Tom hated by the Slytherins as well as the rest of the school. But now Tom knew what was going on. Tom knew that the old man still hated him, just like in the old days. And now he could get his revenge. Revenge on Dumbledore. Revenge on Harry Potter. Revenge on Ginny Weasley.

He imagined it, Dumbledore lying dead before him, or better yet struck mad by enchantments; clawing at his face in torment, pleading with Tom to make it stop. But it wouldn't. He deserved it. This had been Dumbledore's plan all along, to make Tom a laughing-stock, and it was time he paid for it. It was time the tables were turned. The old man would be humiliated, cast aside, shown to be weak. Tom would stand over him, and watch, and laugh.

And then he would turn to Harry Potter. Harry Potter he might keep alive; he was no real threat. Tom realized that now; the boy was a child, and not a particularly powerful one at that. All Harry had that the dreaded Dark Lord didn't was a retinue of friends who would sacrifice anything for him. And it would be more painful, far more painful, for Harry Potter to watch as one by one his friends and conspirators were killed or turned against him. Tom laughed at that idea; Harry Potter staring, slack-jawed, crushed, as Ron and Hermione lay dead by Ginny's hand.

Oh, that was a good one. He would have to remember it.

Which was proving easier said than done. Someone, something, was snatching at the image, stealing it away and ripping it to shreds. He almost leapt to his feet in anger – who had the gall to do such a thing – but then he realized, he knew exactly who it was. And he could tell that she was furious at him. Of course, she would be. It would be just like her to think that a good scolding was what he needed now. When he had finally realized that the world was against him and the only way to succeed was to destroy the established order and impose one of his own. Oh yes, she thought this was just a temper tantrum like any of her tantrums throughout the year. She thought that he just needed a good talking-to, and there it was out on the page.

_Tom! _She had written. _What on _earth _is this all about? You are being utterly ridiculous and you know it. Dumbledore wants nothing but the best for you, and for us, and for every student at Hogwarts and if you can't see that you're a complete idiot! He's been nothing but kind and trusting to you, he's not set anyone against you, you alienated my brother and Hermione with your condescending treatment of them, you alienated the Slytherins by expecting them to worship you right off the bat (and you should know better, Tom, they're Slytherins) and if you would just look around for once you'd notice that there are still people who trust you and consider you a friend – or would, if you would just give them the time of day! No one, not one of the students who left, thought for a second that you were the one behind the attacks – they were all more suspicious of Harry than of you, and if you had listened you would know that too. But you don't look around and you don't listen; you just decide that something is right and you stand by it even when everything goes against it and it's obviously wrong. Yes, my brother and his two best friends don't trust you – but they know what happened my first year, and when you popped out of that Diary proclaiming to one and all that you were Lord Voldemort and you were going to kill Harry and all the muggle-born children, well, what do you _expect _everyone to think? I'm sure your life has been right awful, Tom, absolutely terrible, but why don't you try to see it from someone else's perspective for once? Every time I get close to a Dementor it's _your _voice I hear and _your _face I see, and I'm dying again because _you're _killing me, and taunting as you do it, and Harry knows that and Ron knows that and Hermione knows that and you expect them to trust you immediately anyway? You didn't even try to convince them otherwise the way you did for me. You didn't even try to make amends the way you did for me. So don't go complaining that Dumbledore stacked the cards against you, or that Harry and Ron and Hermione are horrid, judgmental people. Because they aren't and they haven't, and if you call them that then you're being horrid and judgmental and you should be smart enough to realize that. You're being awful, and horrible, and petulant like a small child – just because I went on a date with Harry you want to kill him and Dumbledore, or worse? Just because you can't kiss very well you intend to go on a spree and burn Hogwarts to the ground? Grow up! Get over yourself!_

As the words disappeared, the watermark came into view, a seething mess of fear and anger. Tom laughed coldly. Fear. He could work with that. He shut off his mind, protecting it from further meddling. More worry materialized in the watermark. He was being a child? No. He had finally grown up and realized the truth of the world. He should look at this from another perspective? Why, when no one would stop for a moment and look at it from his? He laughed again as more words popped up on the page.

_And now you're cutting yourself off from me and don't think that you can hide that from me, Tom, I know you're doing it, but just because you've done that doesn't mean I can't still yell at you until I run out of paper, and believe me I've had my share of practice yelling at people. Because those images, those images of Dumbledore and Harry, those are things that the _old _Tom, the one who was Voldemort, would think of, and they weren't right, and you _know _they weren't right, I know you do, because you've told me not to be so vengeful and you've told me not to be so petulant and so now it's my turn, Tom, _don't do it! _They were awful, and disgusting, and terrible, and I can't even _believe _you. You can't make me do horrible things anymore, Tom, you can't make me, I'm stronger than I was my first year and I'm better at magic and I'm closer to my friends and if you don't promise right now – and just like you can tell when I'm lying now, I can tell when you are so don't you dare try to lie to me Tom Riddle – I mean promise right now that you'll stop and you won't do any of those horrid things, I'll go straight to them and we'll go to Dumbledore and he can, I don't know, pull this memory out of my head and see those things that you thought of, and we'll make sure none of it ever happens. Do you hear me Tom? It's not going to work even if you do want it to, so you should just give up now before you do anything so stupid that you do get thrown into Azkaban and lose all the goodwill we've – I mean Dumbledore and I, since you can't deny that we've been more than fair to you – given you so far. Because I swear, Tom Riddle, if you do any of that I will hunt you down and I will lock you up in Azkaban and I will throw away the key and never, ever, ever come and visit you or let you out or anything merciful or kind because you won't deserve it, you'll have forfeited any _humanity _that you once had._

Tom frowned. He was too early in his plans to take down Dumbledore just yet; the old wizard could probably handle a sixth year student (he had to be honest about that at least). He couldn't afford to let Ginny get to the authorities now. She might be ineffectual, and he certainly wouldn't be sent to Azkaban for something as trivial as a thought, but if Dumbledore was tipped off to his plan then there was little chance of his success. But then again, who said that Ginny had to _want _to do such a thing anyway, he thought with a smirk. He enchanted a quill to write in the watermark instead of on the page, and carefully, so that it would be hardly noticeable, added a single thought; she didn't want to punish him – she really didn't. She began writing again, and his smirk spread._ So promise me, Tom, right now, promise me so I don't have to go get Ron and Hermione and Harry and Dumbledore and have you sent off to Azkaban because I don't want to, I really honestly don't want to do something that horrible and condemn you forever but I promise you I _will_ if you don't call off that awful plan of yours because it would be right, and it would be in self defense, and you know it so don't even try to argue._

He laughed outright. Ginny Weasley would do nothing, and think nothing, without his express approval. This was almost too easy. He began to erase her thoughts of sending him to Azkaban, just to be certain that she wouldn't get up to anything for at least a short while, but words appeared on the page and as he read them her plan reassembled itself. _And don't you _dare _try to mess with my head that way, Tom, because I can tell when you're doing it and like I said before I'm stronger than that. You're not going to win so easily this time Tom, and you lost last time anyway, so forget about it._

He said nothing. _Promise me, _she wrote.

He could edit her mind, he knew he could, he had just a moment ago. But he supposed that as with anything, there was a backup, and unless it was subtle enough to catch her unawares and masquerade as one of her own thoughts, well, it wasn't going to fly. So he had to handle this delicately. Perhaps implant the simple thought that he wasn't lying to her. But even that might be too much at this point.

_Tom, please, _she wrote again. _Just promise. You know I've been telling the truth, you have to know it._

Tom tried not to laugh; she really did want him to join up with Harry and the dream team. What a pathetic, naive fool, to expect something like that of a Slytherin – much less, Tom Riddle. _I'm not naive, Tom,_ she wrote. _It's not naivety to give people second chances. That's faith in human nature. _This time he did laugh, although he wondered how she had guessed the word naive. Could she have broken through his Occlumency? Unlikely.

_Come on, Tom, promise. I can tell you're thinking about it, you know that I'm right and you know that I'll win. So just get it over with and move on with your life._

He knew that she would win? That screamed falsehood. Although, if he couldn't effect a wholesale change in her mind, then he had been found out, and to be found out this early in the game was as good as doom for any plan. So, to tell the truth, he supposed that at this point his only choice was to convince her thoroughly that he didn't intend to act on any of his wishes.

_Fine, _he wrote, deciding he might as well try the bold-faced lie. _I won't kill Harry or Dumbledore. _

There was a pause. _You're lying, _she wrote. _I'm telling._

And he could see, from the hazy watermark that was her mind, that she was getting up and going to Harry, or Ron, or Hermione, or Dumbledore. He couldn't have that. He hastily picked up the enchanted quill and drove into her mind with heavy strokes that she would stop. She fought it, and it slowly faded from the page, but before she could do anything he scrawled _SIT DOWN_ into the watermark.

She did.

She didn't try to get up again, but kept writing. _Don't you dare, Tom, don't you dare do that to me, _she wrote. _I'll tell._ He laughed.

And then he made, perhaps, a mistake. He set down the enchanted quill, picked up a normal one, and wrote. _And how, perchance, will you tell when you can't even walk out of your dormitory without my express permission?_ She wrote nothing. He continued. _Besides, what will you say? Tom Riddle is possessing me again? Dumbledore is convinced of my innocence, he disbelieved your brother and the mudblood Granger when they came to blame me for nothing; how will your case be any different?_

She said nothing. Instead, the watermark grew fainter and fainter until he could barely see it, a nondescript shadow on the page. She had gotten better at Occlumency, obviously. _Hermione is going to tell Dumbledore right now, _she wrote.

Tom just laughed. Why would she have used Occlumency unless she was lying? _You're bluffing._

_No, _she wrote, _I'm not. And I'm not speaking to you, Tom, never again. _

The words disappeared, and then so did the last remnant of the watermark. Tom was left in silence, both literal and metaphorical.

It hardly mattered. She would let her guard down eventually – he knew how much, and how quickly this game had tired her the last time – and he could get to her then. This just gave him the time to figure out what to do with his newfound ability in the meantime. He laughed as he carefully folded the parchment and set it in the upper drawer of his desk, pulling out his Arithmancy text to study.

Five minutes hadn't passed when Snape stormed into the dormitory, the steam coming out of his ears only compensated for by his incredibly angry expression. Tom paled. Had she...?

"Where is it?" Snape shouted, wand at the ready, as if Tom were about to hex him.

Tom raised his eyebrows. "What, sir?" he asked with more respect than the slimy head of Slytherin house deserved. "Where is what?"

"You know what, Marvolo," Snape snapped. "Where is the parchment?"

Tom raised his eyebrows still further. "The parchment..."

"Which is probably the work of a Dark Wizard; the parchment with which you have been communicating with Ginevra Weasley! Where is it?"

Well, then. She had told. Or at least, she had begun to tell. That changed things slightly, but not particularly much. "It's in my desk, sir," he said with a deadly calm. "And I promise you it isn't the work of a dark wizard. I made it myself." Tom went to open the lower drawer, hoping possibly that there would be a parchment of about the right size for him to hand over.

"Don't move!" Snape said, wand still trained on Tom. Tom froze. If possible, Snape had become even more irate through the course of the conversation. He strode to Tom's desk and threw open the top drawer, snatching up the parchment. "Is this it?" he asked, eyes not faltering from Tom's.

The man would expect him to lie, obviously, Tom thought. "Yes," he answered.

Snape nodded curtly and motioned with his wand for Tom to stand up. Tom carefully and slowly did, as though he were interacting not with a Hogwarts Professor but with a wild animal. The comparison was not perhaps unwarranted, he thought, looking at Professor Snape's angry, wild eyes and unkempt hair. There were probably beasts in the forbidden forest who bathed as regularly as the Potions Instructor. "Wand!" Snape snapped, and, with a sigh as if all of this was unnecessary, Tom handed his wand to his Head of House. Snape looked like he wanted to snap it on the spot, but marched out of the room, parchment and wand in hand, not even gesturing for Tom to follow him. But Tom assumed, and rightfully so, that he was not supposed to let Professor Snape walk off to, probably, Dumbledore's office with his wand and the parchment. He passed a group of Slytherins on the way, who whispered between themselves and looked rather frightened. With the way Snape favoured most of the Slytherins, they probably had never seen their Head of House so angry. Tom would have laughed at their childishness, but decided it was an inappropriate moment.

When they got there, a furious McGonagall was sitting behind Hermione and Ginny. Ginny was in tears, and Hermione was trying to comfort the younger girl. Pathetic. She had won; she should have been triumphant, gloating even. But instead she was crying hysterically. Even Hermione, who had been – or rather, would have been – proud when he was discovered for having purposefully botched that rune, seemed only concerned and attentive to the young Miss Weasley. Disgusting, ridiculous wastes of space. Not worth the wands they carried.

"Mr. Marvolo," Dumbledore began, eyes glinting this time with anger and voice heavy with disappointment and rage. "Would you say I have not given you a chance to prove your true colours?"

Tom stared his professor straight in the face, plastering his with innocence. "I would say you have been entirely fair, sir."

Dumbledore stared him down sternly. "What is this we find in your possession?" he asked.

"An enchanted parchment," Tom responded, again, as though they were the most normal things in the world.

"What were you doing with an enchanted parchment?" Dumbledore asked.

"Writing to Ginny Weasley," Tom replied smoothly. "I'm sure she told you all about it."

Snape rapped him on the back of the head soundly. Tom winced. That man was going on his list, too. He would kill him, and then Dumbledore, and then Harry Potter. Once he figured out how to break Ginny. That had to come first.

"Just writing?" Dumbledore asked, obviously trying to get Tom to admit that Ginny's thoughts appeared on the page should she care to let them. Ginny had probably confessed that too, but she knew that if she let her thoughts appear on the page, she would be letting Tom in too. He wondered how much damage he could do, with the parchment in Dumbledore's hands, surrounded by professors. But from the fact that all he could sense was her dejected misery, which he guessed was false since it was certainly new, he could tell that she wasn't taking any chances.

"Yes, sir," he responded.

"He's lying," Hermione snapped. Ginny wailed louder. "He enchanted it to show her thoughts; he's started possessing her again through that parchment, sir."

Snape glared at the Slytherin, and then looked at Dumbledore, a question in his eyes. Dumbledore shook his head. So they wouldn't be forcing Tom to drink Veritaserum, he concluded. He found it rather amusing, after all, when he had been administered Veritaserum, he had told the truth – that he was no danger to anyone – and now that he had changed his mind, no one would dare use the potion on him.

Dumbledore sighed and looked at his favoured Gryffindors. "Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, you know that this is not an accusation to be handed out lightly," he warned.

"I know," Ginny sobbed. Tom almost rolled his eyes. Were they buying that? Ridiculous!

"Headmaster, if I may," McGonagall snapped, and Dumbledore nodded that the man could continue. "As eager as I am to prevent any further mishaps from happening at the school, and as much as I would support any punishment of Mr. Marvolo, should it be justified, I simply cannot fathom that a student, even as... questionable as he is, would perpetrate this sort of thing. He has continually been victim to erroneous accusations, what makes this time different?"

Dumbledore frowned. Snape turned to McGonagall and nearly shouted, "Remember who he is! This is no ordinary student!" Dumbledore frowned even further.

"Severus," he said calmly. "I see no reason to discipline Mr. Marvolo any differently than any other student. He has yet to prove himself especially dangerous. Yet, this is a very serious accusation that I must consider." He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, weary. Tom began to think that maybe he could take the headmaster after all, if he were suitably helped. "Minerva, see to it that Miss Weasley is calmed. I will be keeping the parchments, so there is no apparent danger. Severus, please see Mr. Marvolo back to Slytherin. I will have all the Professors meet here to discuss our next step."

Ginny sniffled a bit, but allowed herself to be escorted out of the room by a very concerned looking McGonagall and Granger. She looked up at Tom, a look of mixed hatred, betrayal, and fear in her eyes, before leaving. Snape stalked back to the Slytherin dungeon, and only when they had reached the entrance did he hand Tom his wand back and turn. "Don't think that because you've fooled Dumbledore you've fooled me, Riddle," he hissed. "I'm the only one of the staff to see Potter for the spoiled child that he is, and I have no illusions surrounding your perfection either."

With that he stalked away, presumably to the staff meeting. Tom sulked back into the Slytherin common room, only to be accosted by Draco Malfoy. He almost hexed the boy. "What was that, Marvolo?" Draco sneered. "The only person I've ever seen to get Snape that angry is Harry Potter. You teaming with the Gryffindors?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "No," he answered abruptly and tried to push past Malfoy.

"Then what were you up to?" Draco sneered again, a confident smirk on his face. "Have you fallen for the Weaslette too? Is that why you were writing to her?" The other people in the common room laughed at this. "I should warn you, she's too pathetic for anyone but Potter. Possessed by the Dark Lord her first year – almost died, and would have too, if her _hero _hadn't saved her."

Tom felt a smile coming on. What was so embarrassing about that, to him? What would he care for the story, an unfeeling Slytherin unrelated to the Chamber incident? And how could he not help smirking, related as he was. "I know the story," he said simply.

Draco laughed again, not picking up that the tables had been turned. "What, did she confide in you? Are you two _best friends_? How sweet," he said, pandering to the crowd behind him, some of whom looked to be catching on to Draco's impending fall. "Marvolo's got himself a Gryffindor _girlfriend_. Did tell you all her deepest, darkest secrets?"

Tom laughed outright. "Oh yes, all through her first year," he said. "Ginny simply loved me." He paused for effect. "We've just been catching up."

What little colour there had been in Draco's face disappeared in a moment. The Slytherin common room echoed with silence. "What are you implying, Marvolo?" Draco asked, trying to sound as confident as he had just a moment ago.

Tom stared down his rival. "My real name," he said calmly, "Is Tom Marvolo Riddle." He laughed again, ironically; he had always hated that name. "You might not have heard it before."

Draco's eyes widened a bit. Apparently he had seen the Diary, then, before his father had slipped it into Ginny's possession. "Riddle?" he whispered. "That's not possible."

Tom couldn't help himself; this was just too much fun. "I'll think you'll find it is," he said calmly. Draco stood before him, a shadow of his former proud self, gaping like a fish and eyes wide with fear. "Move aside, Malfoy," Tom said domineeringly. "I've had enough of you for the day."

Malfoy stepped to the side, still staring in terror. Tom snorted. That, he thought, was truly pathetic. But it allowed him to get to his dormitory in peace.

Which was all he needed. A good night's sleep. And Ginny would be considerably weaker tomorrow.

He had to do nothing, after all, but wait.


	34. Revenge

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note: **Thank you to ObsidianSage and Chucky1982 for your comments!

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 34: Revenge**

If Ginny Weasley was tired, she wasn't letting it show. Easter holidays were coming up, Tom had been foiled in his plan – whatever it was – Dumbledore was looking out for her, and she had resolved to enjoy the holiday and the remaining time at Hogwarts with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. So decided, she walked through life with a forcedly empty mind, concentrating only on her studies and the shallow interactions that she was able to have with her fellow Gryffindors. Hermione was, of course, very supportive (almost to the point of absurdity), and Harry and Ron were game enough although they hardly knew what was going on.

It was all for the best, she told herself.

It was all for the best. She had to do it, after all.

She thought, briefly, of getting someone to go to Dumbledore so she could steal the parchments back and destroy them. She felt like she wouldn't really be safe until they had been shredded into small pieces and burned to ash, and possibly buried deep under the lake. But she realized that if she were caught stealing something from the Headmaster's office there would be Hell to pay, and she would surely be caught if she didn't have something to replace them with. And, of course, she was fairly certain that enchanting two pieces of parchment like that was beyond her.

She mentioned it to Hermione once, saying that she didn't think she could keep the Occlumency up forever, and she wished she could destroy the parchment and have done with it. Hermione smiled warmly, a look full of pity and condescension, and said she would look in the library for things that would help. That had been hopeful, but when she came back with books of advice on long-term Occlumency, Ginny knew the older girl wouldn't actually sign up for stealing anything from Dumbledore.

Ginny wondered vaguely if she could blame Tom for the theft, but decided that the fact he didn't have the parchments would be a fairly sure-fire proof of his innocence on that count. So she couldn't just blame him and let him take the fall.

Ginny wished, briefly, that she could open the boundary in order to see in to Tom's mind and see what he was planning. So they could be forewarned. But it went both ways, and fighting her way through to his thoughts would be granting him access to her own, and she couldn't have that. So she read the books Hermione gave her, drank tea with ginger and chamomile to keep her alert and calm, and generally proceeded through life as though Tom Riddle was dead and gone and a thing of the past. Much to Hermione's anguish, she even tried to get her hands on some runespoor eggs to make her sharper (to the point of owling Charlie to see if he couldn't get some for her on the black market).

All in all, it wasn't too bad. She spent enough time studying for Potions that, with Hermione's direction, her grades didn't fall noticeably, and she finally began to feel that in Harry, Hermione, and Ron she had made friends who could be trusted, relied upon, and would come through for her in a crisis. She just had to survive like this for the foreseeable future; until Tom made some mistake severe enough to get him the Dementor's Kiss in retribution.

Ginny could hardly wait.

Patience was a virtue, Tom told himself. Patience was a virtue to be lauded, and if he simply remained patient, postponed his attack for a few weeks, history would repeat itself and Ginny Weasley would play right into his hands once again.

But after a week of being stubbornly blocked by the girl, Tom Riddle was running out of patience.

He had never had very much of it, all said. He was thinking, perhaps, of slipping scurvy-grass into her morning tea, in the hope that in a fit of anger she would forget her occlumency.

Easter holidays were arriving, and he was glad of it only because it would remove Malfoy from his horizons. The snotty pure-blood had first acted towards Tom with disbelief, until Tom had answered so many stupid questions about his fifth year that even the dullest sot couldn't have a doubt as to his true identity. That had taken three days. At this point Malfoy was treating Tom with a mixture of fear and reverence that Tom found almost as aggravating as the boy's former petty hatred. It was as if, realizing that Riddle was the Dark Lord's younger self, Malfoy had suddenly decided that they had best be close friends, the self-aggrandizing git.

"Let me get that for you!" Malfoy whined, passing Tom the mashed potatoes with a look of pure adulation. Tom rolled his eyes and didn't even mutter a "Thank you". He felt a twinge at the back of his mind – had she already given up? – but a surreptitious glance towards the Gryffindor table revealed only that she was mocking Malfoy and Tom's behavior with her brother.

He would have to continue waiting, while she joyfully mocked him to her idiotic friends. Harry Potter was laughing. Of course Harry Potter was laughing. Why wouldn't he be?

They were all enjoying a joke at Tom's expense.

Well, let them, Tom told himself. It wouldn't last. He would have the last laugh, being a true Slytherin.

Malfoy must have noticed the glance because he had jumped to his feet. "Do you want me to go harass Potter, sir?" he asked. _Sir. _The boy was the same age as he. Tom almost laughed at his spinelessness. Some Slytherin he was.

"You have no imagination, Malfoy," Tom said. "Why engage in childish bullying when you know he will always make a fool of you? Better to stay out of it entirely, until you can beat him soundly."

Draco's eyes went wide. "Beat him soundly? You have a plan, then?" the boy seemed almost impossibly young. Of course, he was just a spoiled child at heart.

Tom laughed, smirked, and said nothing, while Malfoy looked at him in mute awe.

"Draco," whined a girl some distance down the table. "Draco, what are you doing over there?" It was Pansy Parkinson, unused to Draco's disdain.

"Shut up, Parkinson," Draco called with derision. "Grow up."

Tom could barely control himself. Had Malfoy just sloughed off the adoration of Pansy Parkinson for the sneering condescension of Tom Riddle? And so easily, too? How absurd. Tom thought anyone who would choose disdain over reverence was a born coward, a born minion, ignominious and cringing and pathetic; Draco, who had put himself forward as the pinnacle of Slytherin, ambitious and self-serving and proud, was now first in line, volunteering to kow-tow. How truly pathetic. Tom looked down the table to see Pansy sniff with anger and derision. Apparently they agreed on that much, if nothing else.

Tom mused briefly if Draco Malfoy were perhaps homosexual, and that was what made it so easy for him to disdain his lover and throw away her affection as if it was nothing. The idea was amusing, he supposed, but he decided that Draco had probably been raised to believe that he would always be surrounded by sycophants, and the only people he had been taught to respect were his father, his mother, and the Dark Lord. Adorers were a dime a dozen.

So this was disgustingly predictable in that way.

Tom finished his meal and went back to the common room to study, ignoring Malfoy who followed closely behind him, babbling about all the things they could do to Potter to make his life miserable. The boy's imagination seemed stuck at the banal, childish, taunting insults. "Hah, we could get everyone to hiss at him; he hated that our second year. Or those badges, the badges were genius," Malfoy babbled, apparently certain he sounded intelligent and cutting.

Tom turned to Malfoy as they rounded the corner to the Slytherin common room. "We are not going to mock Harry Potter," he said calmly, "or annoy him. In fact, _we _are going to do nothing to Harry Potter. _I _am going to kill everyone he holds dear, and force him to watch until he begs for death himself. And then, if I feel merciful, I will kill him. _You _are free to do whatever you want – I have no need for you."

Malfoy looked put out for a moment, and then said "Oh. I should have imagined you would say something like that."

Tom said nothing, not even looking behind him as he strode through the portrait hole, Malfoy tagging along behind him. "But won't you need help, with the, erm, the killing and all that?" Malfoy asked just before the door swung shut behind him. "I can get you an army, Riddle. People to help." Draco trailed off lamely and shuffled his feet on the floor a bit before running to catch up with Tom, who pretended no one had said a thing. "You'll need help; Potter may be a light-weight, but some of his friends can hold their own."

The boy was obviously thinking back to the Bat-Bogey hex of previous years. "I don't think," Tom hissed, "that I have to worry about a Bat-Bogey hex, Malfoy."

"I... I..." Draco stuttered, his face growing cold with confusion and rage. "I'm not incompetent and I'm not a fool. And I would appreciate it if you would show me the respect I deserve rather than treating me like a miserable minion!" the words came tumbling out of his mouth, and after he said them he looked vaguely shocked, as though he couldn't believe he had the gall.

"Like the miserable minion you are?" Tom said quietly. "Prove you're worth respect, and maybe then I'll respect you, Malfoy." A thought occurred to him; he might as well use Malfoy's service. "In the meantime, get me some scurvy-grass."

Draco snorted petulantly, and left the room. He would be back within the hour – it had happened several times over the week. Tom was grateful, however, for the spare moment without having Draco Malfoy to deal with.

He needed a way to get the parchment back. Even if Ginny gave up – when Ginny gave up; Tom would make her give up if she didn't on her own – on the Occlumency, he needed the parchment in order to change anything. He thought perhaps he could reach her with a sort of meditative state – he had heard they were used to tap into past lives in Divination – but he decided that was too much of a long shot. All the same, it would take some planning to sneak into Dumbledore's office and plant a fake parchment inside, taking his.

He could perhaps wait for some distraction – or better yet, have Malfoy cause some distraction – that needed Professor Dumbledore's full attention and draw him out of his office. Tom could then sneak in and replace the parchment, provided of course that Dumbledore didn't keep the thing on him constantly.

That was absurd; certainly Dumbledore didn't think this was serious enough for him to carry the parchments with him wherever he went. It wasn't worth thinking of.

So Tom needed a good facsimile of his parchment – one that would behave the same way, reacting properly to Ginny's parchment, but which wouldn't show her thoughts. Tom frowned. The enchantment was hard enough with both parchments in front of him.

Then again.

He could, he supposed, steal both of them. It would make it much easier to destroy the evidence should he ever need to. He smiled to himself.

By the end of the Easter Holidays, Tom had at his immediate disposal not only fake parchments, but a healthy portion of Scurvy Grass that would drive Ginny Weasley into a fit of hysterics and crack her shell quite effectively. He assumed that, at the very least, he could transfigure it to look like a tea bag and slip it into the mug of tea she constantly carried with her anymore. Probably ginger and ginseng to keep her mind sharp and help with the Occlumency. Hermione would have thought of that. But in the meantime, he had bigger fish to fry. He approached Professor McGonagall after the first Transfigurations lesson after the break and expressed his sincere, heartfelt desire to speak with Professor Dumbledore.

"Excuse me?" she asked. "You should perhaps take this up with your own head of house," she said sternly, and went to rearrange the essays she had collected for easier transportation.

Tom cleared his throat. "I would, Professor, but Professor Snape has taken an unaccountable dislike for me. He refuses to listen to a thing I request, and would refuse this out of hand."

McGonagall cleared her throat. Again, the appeal to fair play and honorable intentions worked. She was a Gryffindor to the heart; it was almost cute. "What seems to be the matter, then, Mr. Marvolo?" She asked.

"I have nowhere to go when the term ends. The orphanage I would go back to ordinarily was foreclosed years ago – I wanted to make sure Dumbledore would allow me to stay at Hogwarts over the summer, since I have nowhere else to stay."

McGonagall's face was stern and unforgiving, somewhat dismayed as though thinking that there were other orphans who she would much, much rather spend the summer looking after. But she nodded curtly and motioned for Tom to follow her, which was all he could ask for anyway. When they reached the Headmaster's office, she said the whimsical password (Chocolate Frog) in as businesslike a tone as possible, and they rode the moving staircase with stiff professionalism.

Dumbledore was waiting inside. McGonagall introduced Tom's request and then left with just as brisk and professional a manner as she had entered. "I'd be grateful, sir," Tom said, "If you could let me stay here this summer."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Well, since you stayed here all of last summer, I don't see what the concern is, Tom," he said warmly. Tom was peering around suspiciously, trying to be unnoticeable, but probably not succeeding. Dumbledore continued, after clearing his throat. "Are you sure there isn't anything else?"

Tom shook his head curtly, still not seeing the parchments. They must be in the old man's desk, he resolved. "No, sir. Thank you, sir," he said. "I only asked because so much has changed since September." He smiled warmly, to match Dumbledore's foolish grin, and then bid the Headmaster a respectful goodbye, and left.

_Chocolate Frog. _The old man was childlike in his senility. But if Tom acted within the week, he could guess that the password would not have changed. He found Malfoy immediately upon returning to the Slytherin common room, and slid next to the other boy with a conspiratorial grin on his face. Tom relished the look of joyous adulation on Malfoy's face.

"I need to break into Dumbledore's office," Tom said calmly, coolly, waiting. Malfoy had to bite his lip no less than three times, but he kept his silence. The boy was learning. "He has something of mine. You'll create some problem to distract him at dinner tonight. I'll make my way into his office and get what I want."

Malfoy nodded mutely, a look of determined shock on his face. With a bit of a laugh, Tom stood up. "Whatever it is you do, do it at precisely six thirty in the evening. I need at least fifteen minutes." Malfoy again nodded.

Tom didn't go to dinner. He instead spread the rumor that he would dine in his dormitory, and knew that the other Slytherins would cover for him out of love for Malfoy if not himself. He perfected his duplicate parchments, and slipped out of the door at six twenty, making his way almost to the Headmaster's office before he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and approached the Gargoyle. "Chocolate Frog", he said, and the moving staircase appeared. It was six-thirty exactly. Perfect.

The parchments weren't in the first drawer he opened, but they were in the third, which was close enough to perfect that he didn't much mind the difference. It was only six thirty-five. He smiled to himself as he closed the drawer, leaving everything exactly as he found it.

He approached the doorway, and almost yelped out of surprise when he felt something bite him, hard, on the shoulder. He turned to find Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, flapping his wings madly to hover mid-air and jutting his head out towards Tom, ready to strike.

He rolled his eyes. How very stereotypical of the Gryffindor; his pet was so loyal to him and so magically powerful that not only could it see through the disillusionment charm Tom had cast, but the beast insisted on following him to the door and pecking at him as though it wanted a fight. Fawkes looked rather stunned for a moment before lunging again, this time catching Tom in the gut and scraping his stomach. Tom grimaced and pulled out his wand, casting a quick _reducto_ on the bird, and then a spell to quench fire – meant to be particularly effective against Salamanders and Phoenixes.

Fawkes was thrown across the room and lay, crumpled and smoking, squawking pitifully. Tom thought of mentioning that it should perhaps have thought of this before it attacked him, but quickly came to his senses and realized that the bird couldn't understand him and certainly couldn't have had the foresight to realize that attacking Tom Riddle was a bad idea (even for a Phoenix).

Tom slipped through the door, and down the stairs, the real parchment snug in his pocket. He reached the bottom and watched the gargoyle slide back into place. It was six forty-five.

He heard footsteps down the hallway. He ran.


	35. OWLs

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note: **Thank you Chucky1982 for the review! I'm as surprised as anyone else is, but this story will be over (and posted in its entirety) in two weeks. There's just one more surprise, if it can be so-called (and it's one I particularly like).

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 35: O.W.L.s  
**

Ginny was having a wonderful dream. Harry had defeated Voldemort, all was well with the world, they were married, and they were seeing their first son – James Sirius Potter – off to his first year at Hogwarts. She smiled and waved as the Hogwarts Express left King's Cross Station. Then, suddenly, there was an earthquake. "Ginny!" Hermione shouted. Ginny didn't have much time to wonder why it was Hermione who had shouted, and not Harry, before she woke up. Hermione was shaking her awake. "Ginny!" Hermione hissed, panicked. "Ginny, are you okay?"

Ginny frowned and furrowed her brow, rubbing her eyes as she pushed herself to a seated position. Hermione was already dressed and a picture of worry, but it couldn't have been much past dawn. "I'm fine," Ginny mumbled disagreeably. "What is it, Hermione?"

Hermione sighed in relief and sat down on the bed next to Ginny. "There was an attack last night. Fawkes was injured. The professors were trying to keep it quiet so we only just found out, but the prefects were alerted about it, and Harry and Ron and I have been up all night. We thought it was Tom and so we worried about you. Maybe he's stolen the parchments back."

Ginny rubbed her eyes again. "I'm keeping up the Occlumency, Hermione, so you didn't have to wake me up for that," she grumbled. She would much rather her dream not be interrupted, and this was a particularly ungodly hour to be awake.

Hermione shook her head condescendingly. "Ginny," she scolded. "This is serious. Unless you were making a fuss about nothing when you told us to have Dumbledore confiscate the parchments, that is," she had a warning look on her face.

Ginny sighed and rubbed her eyes again, settling back into her pillows. "I'm sorry, Hermione," she said in as placating a tone as she could manage. "Thank you for telling me. I will be especially careful about my Occlumency. Now, could you please leave and let me get a few more hours' sleep?"

Hermione looked slightly put out. "Harry and Ron and I," she said by way of scolding, "Are going to go to Dumbledore and figure out if Tom was behind the attack. But if you think your sleep is more important," she snorted, "Feel free to go back to sleep."

Ginny shook her head. They would discover nothing form Dumbledore, she knew that. "Dumbledore isn't going to tell us anything," she said, biting back a yawn. "Unless Tom is a lot less clever than we suspect, he'll have covered his tracks. And Dumbledore is on his side, anyway – wants to give him a second chance. Besides, whether Tom has the parchments or not, the primary thing is for me to be careful about my Occlumency. Which I'm doing, and which is much easier to do if I get enough sleep." She stared Hermione in the face. Hermione was not convinced, and apparently was not going to leave until Ginny buckled. "But if you're so certain, I'll come with."

Hermione nodded curtly, and left the room for Ginny to dress. She pulled on her work robes and, with a stifled yawn, made her way down to the common room. Ron rushed up to her and grabbed her hand, sanctimonious and condescending. "Are you all right, Gin?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine," she said curtly, with a look towards Hermione.

"Well," the older girl said as if on cue. "Let's go."

The longer they waited outside Dumbledore's office, shouting names of candies at the Gargoyle, the more frustrated Ginny became. This was stupid and ridiculous, and absolutely not how she wanted to spend the hour before classes began. She still had time to have breakfast and a quick nap if she left now, she thought, but a glance at Hermione's stoic face told her it would not be a good idea to suggest they just leave it.

Five more minutes of this absurdity changed her mind. "Let's just leave it," she mumbled.

"What?" Hermione snapped, and Ginny knew that she had heard perfectly well. Harry sighed and leaned against the wall, Ron looked vaguely concerned.

"I said, let's just leave it. We're not going to get in there, anyway. If Professor Dumbledore wants to talk to us, he'll send a message with McGonagall or someone. And if not, then he's not going to tell us anything anyway. Besides, he was the one who wanted to give Tom a second or third or whatever number this is chance, so it's not as if he's likely to blame Tom." They didn't look persuaded, so she sighed and continued. "And, as if that wasn't enough, if Tom is half as clever as I think he is, he'll have covered his tracks and put in a fake parchment so it won't look like anything happened except Fawkes getting injured. That could have been anyone that did that – and there's another person attacking the school and Dumbledore anyway, so wouldn't it make a lot more sense for Dumbledore to suspect the person who wrote all those notes, rather than Tom?"

"But Tom wrote the notes," Ron mumbled.

"No he didn't, he was minding his own business until..." Ginny trailed off. She knew for a fact that he had flown off the handle when she laughed at him, but she didn't want to tell Harry and Ron and Hermione that she had snogged Tom Riddle and he wasn't particularly good at it. "Until the middle of March," she finished. "You _gave _him Veritaserum, Harry, Ron. You know he wasn't up to anything at Christmas." She rubbed her eyes, barely containing her frustration. It was ridiculous. They all knew that she had to keep a cool affect, and yet Hermione had the gall to wake her up at this ridiculous hour and force her to stand and make a fool of herself for no benefit outside of Dumbledore's office. The more she thought about it the angrier she got. She tried to focus on something calming, she forced herself to remain externally calm at least, but suddenly she realized that even if Tom saw these thoughts he would think they were false, so she gave up, and just shouted. "Maybe if you lot all just trusted him and treated him like a human being, he wouldn't have flown off the handle at all, and we wouldn't need to be on our guards against _two _Dark Lords!" The words burst out of her mouth, taking with them some of the exhaustion and the suppressed anxiety of the past days. It felt good to let loose, to yell and scream and lose focus.

Harry looked at her in shock. Ron's mouth was hanging open. Hermione alone was put together and rolled her eyes. "That hardly matters, does it, Ginny, because now we do have to be on our guards against two Dark Lords, and yelling at each other isn't going to do any good. Besides which, you shouldn't be yelling at anyone – it conflicts with your Occlumency."

Ginny took a deep breath and smiled sweetly. "Standing here waiting for Dumbledore isn't going to go any good either," she said. "I'm going to breakfast; we have class in thirty minutes. And in case you're horribly worried about me, Hermione, I don't think he would change the thoughts I just expressed; it wouldn't be in his interest." Hermione sighed in frustration, and as if to punctuate her point, Dumbledore came walking down the hallway.

He smiled wearily at them. "You're here to pay your respects to Fawkes?" he said, fairly clearly certain that their intentions were somewhat different.

"No," Hermione said bluntly. "We think it was Ophicus Marvolo, Professor. You have to arrest him." Her voice was cold, rigid, and brooked no protest from Ginny.

"I fear you are most likely incorrect, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied. "The only things of interest to him were the parchments," he said with a glance toward Ginny. "They were not stolen. In fact, nothing was. It would seem that whoever broke into the office either did not find what he wanted or wanted only to harm Fawkes. The faculty and I are currently looking into suspects." He smiled warmly and looked toward Ginny. "It has crossed my mind that the parchments I have are fakes, planted by Mr. Riddle. However, they interact in much the same way as the originals, and the only way to truly test their identities would be for Miss Weasley to let up her Occlumency for a moment and see if anything appears."

Ginny scowled. "Never," she said simply. "I'm not opening myself up to anyone until I know they've been destroyed."

Dumbledore sighed. "You do realize that for us to help you, you have to allow yourself to be helped," he said patronizingly. Ginny just glared at him frostily. "You would be surrounded by friends; perfectly safe," he added, and Ginny turned away, not believing him. "In that case," he said, turning to look at Hermione again, "I really have no reason to suspect Mr. Riddle. You four should catch some breakfast before classes."

Ginny led the way to breakfast, not speaking to anyone. She schooled her emotions to reveal nothing, but she was having a hard time of it. She told herself that it didn't matter, that she shouldn't care that Hermione had ruined her night's sleep, especially since she had been awoken for her own good, and out of concern, not spite. But it was difficult, and when Hermione handed her another bag of herbal tea, Ginny snapped "I don't need to be mothered, Hermione!"

Hermione glanced towards Ron and Harry, who had their noses pointed to their plates as if to avoid the conflict altogether, and seeing that they would be no help to either side thrust the tea bag at Ginny again. "Ginevra Molly Weasley," she said in a voice that was probably as close to Mrs. Weasley's as any non-Weasley could manage (although Ginny could certainly do better). "You are going to drink this tea, you are going to control yourself, and you are not going to throw a temper tantrum that could be used against all of us, especially now that Ophicus _has the parchments. _Do you understand where this puts us? Do you understand that whatever safety we have had for the past weeks has been entirely abrogated? And all because you can't find it in your heart to trust _Dumbledore_!" Hermione snorted. "So, because you're being a stubborn little baby, we're doing this the hard way, and if we're doing this the hard way, then you're at least going to sign on and not _forfeit the entire thing _just because you're a stubborn cow!"

Harry and Ron's heads snapped up. Ginny was fuming. "That's a bit much, Hermione," Ron mumbled, and Harry looked like he agreed but was too afraid of his classmate to say anything. Ginny just continued to glare, and set her jaw in a firm line.

"Hermione," she said with a shakily calm voice. She took the tea bag and dropped it in a cup of hot water, without looking away from Hermione. "Don't treat me like an idiot. Until you've had Tom bloody Riddle in your head, you can't hope to understand." She didn't bother looking at Harry, who was perhaps the one other person in the room who could understand what was going on in her head, because she hardly hoped for him to back her up. But, miraculously, he did.

"She's right, Hermione," he said quietly. "You're out of line – if she doesn't want to open herself up, then she doesn't have to. I'd do anything to keep You-know-who out of my head. And Dumbledore distanced himself from me all last year just because of the danger. It would have been stupid to give Tom the chance, Dumbledore there or not."

Hermione crossed her arms and made a "humph"-ing noise before turning to her breakfast. They passed the rest of the time in silence.

Ginny didn't speak to Hermione, or Ron, or Harry, except to get herbal teas in the mornings, for at least two weeks. The Quidditch Final came up, and Harry said that after the fiasco at the last game, they were going to let their reserve player play instead of fielding Ginny. He said it with such a look of pity that Ginny almost forgave him, but only nodded coldly and left the pitch. She didn't stay to watch, and she stayed away from the raucous celebration downstairs when Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup.

She heard Hermione telling Harry and Ron that Ginny was probably just tired from Occlumency, and not angry with them; Ginny laughed. Anymore, Occlumency was easy. It was schooling her appearance to be exactly what she wanted it to be. There had been a time when she wasn't very good at that, but growing up with Fred and George had made her an expert. In fact, this was far easier than directed Occlumency: shutting everyone out required much less effort than expressing emotions and repressing them at the same time. And she had to admit, the herbal teas helped a lot. She wanted to tell Hermione, no, I'm not tired, unless you count tired of being treated like a small child. But she decided that she had perhaps best not do that until she could find another source of herbal tea.

Just to be safe.

And then, altogether too soon, O.W.L.s were upon her and she found herself staying up late at night studying. She was tired, she was stressed, and she could tell that her shell was going to break soon. Late one night, she figured it didn't much matter if Tom knew she was thinking of Transfiguration, and she stopped fooling everyone. The shell fell off with a sigh, and she felt something – the tiniest twinge – in the back of her mind, just the same as when Tom had put a drop of blood on the parchment.

He was watching.

Let him watch.

She filled her mind with Transfiguration notes, and although at the beginning she had a bit of trouble biting down false remorse about staving him off for so long (she admitted to herself – and him – it was a nice try on his part), soon she was more focused than before. There was something she didn't have to worry about, finally. And as long as she was focused on studying, she could forget about everything else.

Tom simply could not believe his luck. He had expected to have to use a confusing concoction to crack Ginny's shell. But the very morning after he stole back the parchments from Dumbledore, not twelve hours after he broke into the Headmaster's office, he was startled by the eruption of her anger at breakfast. He almost pulled out the parchment but then held back; it would be far too obvious to do anything deleterious at this point, he had to give everyone a few weeks to begin to believe that all that had happened in Dumbledore's office was a bird getting injured. Instead, he just watched and listened.

She was standing up to Granger, he saw (which was obvious from a glance towards the Gryffindor tables). But he could also see that the argument was about him, and that Ginny was fairly certain (as were, surely, the others) that he was responsible for the attack on Dumbledore's office, and that he therefore had the parchments. But what puzzled him was that she wasn't going to do anything about it other than continue to cold-shoulder him. He tried to throw a few wrenches into her thoughts to keep her angry (and thus incapable of effective Occlumency), but it was for nought and her thoughts disappeared from the parchment once more.

By the time they resurfaced, he had not only decided that a confusing concoction was necessary, but had brewed it. It sat on his bureau in a clear vial, perhaps five millilitres of light yellow fluid, waiting for the proper method of delivery. He could slip it into her tea in the mornings, but other people would be around and would probably notice. Best to have her take it just as she woke up, when she would still be groggy and when Hermione would not be there to insist that someone test it before drinking. So he figured he could convince a house elf to deliver it to her in the middle of the night, and he just needed some cover story to convince her to drink it.

He didn't hope for a moment that he wouldn't have to use it at all. But then, a week before her O.W.L.s began, her thoughts began to appear on the parchment.

Of course, they were all about Transfiguration. It wouldn't be very useful for him to disrupt her knowledge of Transfiguration, he decided. He tried to make her think about other things, but she had gotten better at controlling her own thoughts, as well as the Occlumency. She was keeping most things from him, just letting him see her studies.

But it did afford him a place to practice. So he subtly affected just her thoughts on academics; correcting one here or there, planting a false notion in her head only very occasionally. He got to be so good at it that she didn't notice, or at least didn't alter her behavior. He abandoned her completely during the Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L., but to his dismay he didn't think she noticed that either.

It crossed his mind with not a little bitterness that she had Harry Potter to help her with that one.

And then, it was Thursday evening, and the only test that remained was Potions. Ginny was studying frantically. Tom figured, this was his only chance. He scrawled a note, saying the draught was Felix Felicis, and since Ginny was so nervous about the Potions O.W.L. she should take some for luck, enchanted it to take on the handwriting of whoever Ginny expected it to, attached it to the bottle and went down to the kitchens to plead with a House Elf.

Then he waited until morning. Her test was at nine in the morning, and he woke up at five.

By seven, he was studying the parchment carefully – it showed nothing, as it tended to do every night (Ginny would not be so careful as to let Tom see her dreams, after all). But she had to be awake – she had her Potions O.W.L. in two hours.

Eight, and still nothing. Tom cursed under his breath. Maybe she had caught on and this would all be for naught. Eight-thirty. Then, at eight forty-five, the parchment erupted into a sea of thoughts, slipping from here to there in a blur of confusion. Tom almost cackled with delight.

Still, it wouldn't do to let her be late to Potions. He slipped in directions, reminders, making sure she never got lost. He inserted thoughts putting her confusion off to nervousness. He inserted misconceptions about Occlumency, hoping to make her completely incapable of that. Finally, he tried to go so far as to make her hate Harry – but that thought soon disappeared into the storm of her mind never to resurface.

The Potions test began. Tom had to bring her attention back to the written portion almost every five minutes, and advise her constantly, but it wouldn't do to let her fail the Potions O.W.L. By the end of the written portion, she was feeling inexplicably confident and successful, but still had the attention span of a cocker-spaniel. Tom rubbed his eyes. This was almost as grueling as taking the test had been last year. But it had to be done; if she failed the Potions test she would lose her trust in him completely, and he would be back to square one. The practical portion of the test consisted in brewing a Draught of Peace, and Tom walked her through every step to make a successful potion, and then carefully removed some thoughts that perhaps tasting some would calm her nerves and help her regain her normal self-possession. In her current state, she might just drink her O.W.L. potion, and while it would have had exactly the effect she thought, well, it would have been unseemly.

And it would have had exactly the effect she thought.

Then, finally, it was over. Tom could almost hear the bells ringing as students filed out of the classroom. Ginny was suitably thrilled about being done with her O.W.L.s, and the confusing concoction was just beginning to wear off. It was his last chance.

He only had to implant three thoughts: first, the strong assurance that he had never, and would never, done anything to hurt her. Second, the reminder that Harry Potter was an arse, always had been, and had only made Ginny feel like more of a second-class citizen. Third, he added the suggestion that she abandon Potter and his friends and cast in her lot with Tom.

He couldn't quite tell if it had worked. He waited for a moment, and her thoughts became clearer as the last of the confusing concoction wore off. But she didn't close herself off from him. He added a small suggestion that she come to the Slytherin common room, wrote in directions, and waited.


	36. Confusion

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note: **No Tom in this Chapter, sorry. Well... no physical Tom in this Chapter. Sorry. Thank you to The-Quoi (Unfortunately, Tom can be rather stubborn when he wants to be; he needs a bit of a shock to snap out of it), and Annabel-lurvs-purple (glad you liked it!) for your reviews! See you Thursday, for a chapter that made me grin and guffaw even more than this one!

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 36: Confusion**

Ginny couldn't sleep the night before her Potions O.W.L. If she was brutally honest with herself, it didn't matter one way or another for her future; no one cared how talented (or wretched) at Potions a professional Quidditch player was. But there was a nagging bit of her (mostly her stalwart determination and thirst for success) that wanted to prove herself against Hermione, against Tom, and against anyone who had ever thought she would need help to get through the day.

This is why, upon waking up only fifteen minutes before the Potions exam, she seriously considered ignoring the Felix Felicis Harry had made for her. Her first instinct was to insist that she could do this on her own; she had no need for artificially produced luck. Her second instinct was to say that she was a fool if she didn't accept Harry's help, and that a little bit of luck was never a replacement for skill.

She didn't have time for a third instinct. She just pulled on her robes and downed the potion in one gulp.

Her mother had told her that Felix Felicis could cause giddiness. Ginny supposed that she could call the feeling that swept through her upon drinking it giddiness, although it was more of a fuzziness, as she felt all her troubles melt away into a sort of vague nonsense. She laughed, supposing that she must have taken a bit too much, and that she would just be luckier for longer than necessary, perhaps. She heard a banging on her door, and stood puzzling at it. Who would be knocking? Why would they be knocking? Everything was just fine, glorious, wonderful. Why would someone be hammering the door down?

"Ginny! We have to hurry or we'll be late for Potions!"

Ginny blinked. Potions. Her O.W.L. was today. That was why she had taken Felix Felicis in the first place. She shook her head. It must have been a side-effect of the giddiness that she had forgotten. Right. So that was solved. She shook her head and grabbed her bag, opening the door and hurrying past her classmates on her way to the dungeons. She had to get there.

Not that she would be late; she was very lucky today.

Although it would be just like Potter to mess up the Felix Felicis and turn it into something much more sinister, she thought.

Then she gasped. Since when did she think of Harry as "Potter"? She wondered if perhaps her Occlumency had come to nothing, and Tom had gotten in. But that was silly; of course her Occlumency was just fine – she had the charm around her wrist and everything.

Or was it her ankle?

That didn't make any sense at all; what did ankles have to do with Occlumency? It must be her neck. But there was nothing around her neck, and she knew for a fact that she wouldn't wear a necklace every day since March. She hated jewelery. She shook her head. She had Potions to think about, and she knew that the best way to keep Tom out of her thoughts was to focus on Potions; her nerves must really be getting to her.

Or perhaps her lack thereof; she wasn't certain.

She found her way to the Potions dungeon and stopped in the doorway for a moment. She had forgotten where to sit. Of course it was a test and they had assigned seats, and of course she realized that they had known their assigned seats for the past week at least (perhaps the past month, she thought with a sense that her memory failing on her was certainly not the effect of Felix Felicis that she would have chosen for a testing situation). She strode to the first open table and found her name on it. Lucky.

Of course she was lucky. She had just taken perhaps too much Felix Felicis. She decided that that much Potion, with that much effect, would probably mean her subconscious was smarter than she at Potions at the moment, and stared down at the test.

The page was blank. She frowned. Surely they didn't have to do a spell to get the test to reveal itself; that would be cruel. And even Snape would have warned them about that. And no other class required them to enchant the tests in order to see the questions, so why would Potions? Perhaps she needed a revealing draught, she thought, and then frowned again because she was fairly certain she had never heard of a revealing draught before and certainly didn't know how to make one. She shook her head. There was a chiming from the front of the room, and the examiner, some old wizard from the ministry with sallow skin and oily hair – was that standard in Potions experts, she wondered, a side-effect of days spent over a cauldron – said in a surly voice "You may open your test booklets; the examination has begun."

Ginny almost laughed with relief (and shock at her own foolishness) as she opened the booklet and gazed at the first question.

She had barely finished reading it before she was certain of the answer. She began scribbling.

Now, this was what she was talking about; Felix Felicis indeed. She practically sped through the exam, except for the few times when she got confused about which questions she was supposed to answer or the form her answer was supposed to take, and had to read the directions several more times to understand. But it was probably just nerves, she decided, and in general the test had certainly gone better than any other Potions test she could remember. So the Felix Felicis must have been working.

Ginny finished every answer (which was surprising to her, since she had never done that on a Potions test before), and reviewed each answer (finding no particular mistakes, but that might have been assisted by the fact that her nerves were so bad that she couldn't read through a five word answer without losing her place). Another chime rung as she was on the last page and the examiner (who, really, looked like he could have been Snape's grandfather), said in a sneering tone, "Put your quills down, time is up." The sound of frantic scratching stopped. Young men and women in ministry robes walked down the aisles picking up examinations, and the students were allowed thirty minutes for lunch before the practical portion of the examination began. House elves had provided food out in the corridors, and Ginny fell in line behind Colin Creevey and a girl from Hufflepuff to get a sandwich.

"Neville was right," Ginny heard Colin Creevey whispering. "It's so much easier without Snape in the room, breathing down your neck. I reckon I did all right."

The brown-haired Hufflepuff he was talking to tittered. "I don't know, Colin," she said. "The examiner from the ministry isn't much better than Snape. And this test matters so much for our futures; I was just as scared as ever."

Colin shook his head and said something supportive in a muted tone. Ginny grabbed a roast beef sandwich and wandered a bit down the hall. She had the sudden idea of going to the Slytherin common room, which she figured had to be nearby (of course it was in the dungeons), and she looked for a Slytherin in her year before shaking her head; that was absurd. For what reason would she go down to the Slytherin common room? She had never been close enough to Tom, even in the best of times, to casually stop by his common room, and now was certainly not the best of times – it was only a hair's breadth from out and out war.

Not that what he did, throwing a little tantrum, really deserved that, she thought abruptly.

She shook her head again, as though her thoughts were rocks that were bouncing about confusedly in her head altogether too much, and by shaking the inappropriate ones to the bottom she would be more comfortable. Tom had tried to control her again; tried to possess her again. Surely he deserved everything he got.

Except, she realized, he hadn't really tried to control her – all he had actually done was try to stop her from going to Dumbledore before she heard his case. For all she knew, he wasn't being at all unreasonable now. It _could _have just been a temper tantrum. And she didn't want to be punished for her temper tantrums, she knew. She said things that she didn't mean, she did things that were almost unforgivable, but she was lucky enough to have friends that forgave her for her temper, rather than friends that turned her in to Dumbledore for hexing Draco Malfoy in the hallways.

Ginny sighed. The problem was, even if Tom might still be a good guy (or at least a neutral player), until she knew that for sure she couldn't give him a second chance. With that parchment, with the connection between them, it was just too much to ask to give him another chance. She couldn't stop using Occlumency, she couldn't give him an inch. If he had turned bad, which he very well might have, he could abuse that inch too thoroughly, and take a mile, and she would only have herself to blame for that. So she had to keep her distance. That much was obvious.

But it would be nice to know for sure if it was just a temper tantrum or if it was a change of heart, she decided. And it couldn't hurt to talk to him in person, so long as she was still using Occlumency. He couldn't touch her when she was using Occlumency; or rather, he would have to fight her out and out, and although he was much better at Potions than she, he hadn't yet studied so much of the Dark Arts that she couldn't hold her own against him with Charms and Jinxes.

After all, she was Ginny Weasley, and she was famous around the school for her Charms work. Even Fred and George feared to be on the receiving end of her wrath. She smiled at that.

She wondered briefly how much she could figure out from him if she even talked to him in person; after what happened last time she hardly expected him to say he was up to anything even if he was. And she didn't really think he would fall for her suddenly deciding to join him against Harry and Ron and Hermione and Dumbledore, especially after the last time she had done that. So she thought that maybe she couldn't trust him no matter what he said, and it just wouldn't do any good to talk to him in the first place, but that was a rather defeatist point of view, and she clenched her jaw and determined that she didn't want to be bitter, scared, morose Ginny Weasley, but friendly, bubbly, happy, brave, and proud Ginny Weasley. And the Weasleys gave people second, and third, and fourth chances, even when perhaps they shouldn't. Didn't they?

She thought, suddenly, that maybe they would have her brewing Veritaserum, and she could pocket some to use on Riddle and see what he was really up to – but then she remembered that Veritaserum took a month to brew, and was significantly above O.W.L. level, so that was out of the question. She sighed. It would have been useful, she thought, although making Tom drink it, and making sure he didn't know a counter curse or an illusion to make it seem like he drank it when really he didn't, or hadn't already swallowed some antidote to make it useless, well, ensuring all of those things was well beyond what she was capable of if she wasn't even on speaking terms with him yet. So she gave up on that idea.

Part of her wished she knew Legilimency, so she could read his mind from looking at him, but she decided that it was probably not a very easy task to learn, and whereas Occlumency favoured her strengths of being able to hide her emotions from her brothers, and the ability to lie to her mother taught by Fred and George, well, Legilimency relied on being able to read people; not only obvious people who couldn't hide their emotions if they wanted to like Harry Potter, but anyone and everyone, and Ginny had never been particularly observant or supportive. She didn't think that anyone in her family was, to tell the truth; they were all too noisy and raucous to need to be able to understand quiet and secretive people.

She laughed at herself. Here she was worrying about not being a Legilimens, when she could just reach into the back of her mind and see if Tom was up to anything – much easier than any Legilimency.

She almost did, too, before she realized how stupid that would be and stopped herself. Any door opened opens both ways; if she wanted to check on him she would be allowing him to check on her – and that was just what she didn't want to have happen. Besides, she knew that she could control the connection by Occlumency, but that meant that he could as well. She didn't trust Tom to be any less adept at Occlumency than she was, so she would likely see only what he wanted her to see.

She shook her head. This Potions test was distracting her far too much; she had almost made a fatal mistake. She wondered for a terrifying moment if perhaps the Felix Felicis hadn't really been Felix Felicis; what if it was some poison or some draught to make her confused and more likely to slip up like that?

But that was ridiculous. Why would Harry give her something that would make her slip up and give Tom an opening? And the potion had certainly come from Harry; who else could get it into the Gryffindor Common room or convince one of the girls to put it by her bed? Besides, the note had been in Harry's rather distinctive scrawl.

But he was such a dolt at Potions; almost as bad as she – what if he had messed up somehow? What if he had made some mistake and it had caused the potion to backfire? She didn't know how Felix Felicis worked, and certainly not well enough to be able to tell whether or not any mistake Harry was likely to make would have caused her to be confused and foolhardy all day rather than simply lucky, but she couldn't dismiss that thought from her mind.

It was, of course, exactly the wrong thought to be haunted with as the examiner called them back in to the room for the practical portion of the test. She had barely touched her sandwich, but it wouldn't do to keep everyone waiting, so she filed back in with the rest of them, and nervously sat behind her cauldron. The standard set of ingredients was neatly arrayed in front of her on the table. A young man checked the hallway for stragglers and then closed the door behind the last student, a bored expression on his face.

The examiner cleared his throat, and the room again went silent. He pointed his wand to the chalkboard and a thick white piece of chalk hastily scribbled "Draught of Peace" in absolutely perfect printing. "You will be making the Draught of Peace," he intoned. "You have four hours. You may begin." There was a chime and Ginny stared at her ingredients.

There was a moment when she wasn't sure how to start, but then she erupted into a frenzy of action; setting her cauldron to boil and taking a whole moonstone out of the ingredients kit to grind with her mortar and pestle.

Everything was wonderfully automatic; she dumped the moonstone into the cauldron just as the water began to boil almost without thinking of it, and then began quickly chopping the other ingredients. In went the hellebore, the crocodile heart, the burnt and shredded porcupine quills, and so on and so forth. It was almost as if her subconscious was working faster than her conscious mind; whenever Ginny thought of something that might have gone wrong, it was already accounted for.

She wondered if taking some and drinking it, when it was done, would soothe her nerves and reduce the negative effects that the Felix Felicis appeared to be having. Perhaps it would make her mind more orderly; so she could keep up with herself. But she balked at that possibility; first, it was entirely possible (and likely) that she had botched the potion somehow. Second, it was equally likely that the potion wouldn't do a thing to counteract Felix Felicis. And third, she didn't know, or want to know, what trouble she could get into by stealing something from the Ministry of Education – the O.W.L. reviewers weren't wizards to be taken lightly. Perhaps she could be accused of cheating and have all of her tests thrown out simply for that; and without any O.W.L.s, she wasn't going to get a job anywhere. No one would trust her with even the simplest task.

So she had best just leave the potion in the cauldron, let them evaluate it, and hope the jitteriness and the confusion and the nerves left her at the end of the Potions exam. She thought, briefly, that it was just like Harry to botch something like this; try to help her out on her Potions exam and end up just making her nervous and disoriented all day. He was well-intentioned, perhaps, but horribly inept.

And sometimes she wondered even if his intentions were all that good. No, she couldn't deny that he meant the best, and she was glad to be in his confidence more now than she had been in the past, but he was a mediocre friend to her and even given his attempts to be friendly and supportive especially since her falling out with Tom, well, he wasn't doing particularly well. In fact, usually he only succeeded in annoying her. And what sort of friend was that to sacrifice other things for?

Ginny sighed angrily. She had to let the Potion sit for another twenty-two minutes and five seconds, and she eyed the small alarm clock warily. At thirteen minutes to go she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Something had gone wrong. She first thought it had to be with her Potion, and frantically went over every step she had taken – none of them were mistakes. She smelled the potion and examined it; it appeared to be correct. So she didn't think it could have been that.

But the nagging sensation that something was horribly, terribly, and irrevocably wrong didn't go away. She began to get frantic. What had she done wrong? What had she forgotten? What trap had she fallen into?

That was it; that was the nagging feeling. Someone had tricked her, sabotaged her, fooled her into a false sense of security and then pounced when she least expected it. She slipped into a panic. What had been in that potion she drank this morning? What had she done; drinking it without making sure it was what it claimed to be? What fool mistake had Harry made that caused her to be unfocused and confused for her Potions exam?

Unfocused.

She felt all the blood rush from her face. Unfocused. If she couldn't focus her thoughts, she couldn't control the parchment. Occlumency, after all, was all about control and focus. And Harry, that blamed fool, had made her lose her focus for the better part of a day with his faulty potions-work. Tom would have had essentially free access to do whatever he wanted to her thoughts, all day, and it was entirely Harry's fault!

She was lucky Tom hadn't tried anything. Which either meant he didn't know about his chance – something she found incredibly unlikely, since they shared a telepathic connection – or he didn't have the parchments, making him powerless to do anything about it – which contradicted her strong belief that he had broken into Dumbledore's office and stolen the parchments back – or he had chosen to do nothing, when he had an absolutely golden opportunity to take action – which screamed against every single thing she knew about You-Know-Who, and everything she knew about Tom Riddle. Tom was evil and manipulative, opportunistic to a fault; surely the Diary had never let a chance for possession go by unused. So this last option seemed the least likely by far. Most likely, he didn't have the parchments, which meant he hadn't been behind the attack on Dumbledore's office, which meant that someone else was.

But who could that other person be? And if someone else had broken into Dumbledore's office, just like someone else had written those letters and slammed the doors shut at Christmas, well, perhaps her question shouldn't be who that other person could be, but how on earth Dumbledore and Harry and everyone was going to deal with not one but two incarnations of the Dark Lord in the school at one time. Ginny agreed very much in principle with Mr. Lovegood: she thought the school could make a stand against a single You-Know-Who and succeed, but if there were two of him she was doubtful that even Harry Potter would come out alive. Especially if the boy who lived couldn't even make a proper batch of Felix Felicis.

Then again, Ginny thought, there were perhaps two other possible interpretations. The first was that Tom wasn't the one to ransack the headmaster's office not just because the older Lord Voldemort had gotten to it before him, but also (or mostly) because he had realized the error of his ways and decided to leave Ginny alone. Or rather, he had calmed down enough to give up his plans for out and out war, and had decided that instead he would be much better off just keeping to himself and to Slytherins, Gryffindors (and especially Harry and Ginny) be damned. That was at least as likely as him being beaten to the idea by his senior and thwarted by increased security measures.

The second (or was it third? Ginny still found her thoughts confused and slightly lost at sea) possibility was that he had the parchments and had done something, and she hadn't noticed because of Harry's blunder in making the Potion. But that was absurd. Of course she would have noticed, even in the jittery and unfocused state, if Tom bloody Riddle had implanted thoughts into her head.

The timer rang, and she jumped to a seated position, waving her wand at it in a desultory fashion to quiet it. She cooled the potion and saw it gelling slightly – perfect. She dipped in a nickel ladle, which was almost as resistant to reaction as the fancy platinum ones she saw in apothecaries (but much cheaper), and filled five vials with her potion. Then she began to clean up. It was miraculous, she thought, that even with a malfunctioning Felix Felicis making her unfocused and confused, she had made a picture perfect Draught of Peace. Almost like someone else had seen through the haze of her thoughts and directed her hands for her.

She stopped cleaning with a jolt and almost spilled her potion all over the floor. That was absurd, unspeakable, so far from likely that it didn't bear any thought whatsoever.

But it did, she supposed, explain a lot. Tom broke into Dumbledore's office and stole the parchments back. But probably his aim with them was no more evil than it had ever been – he just wanted to communicate with her. Of course, he had told Malfoy and the other Slytherins differently, in order to avoid their scorn and get their help in the plot to break into the office in the first place, which explained the rather smug sneers Malfoy had been sending in her direction lately. And then Tom _had _noticed when Harry's botched potion made Ginny's mind accessible, of course, and had used the parchments not to brainwash her, but to ensure that she passed her Potions O.W.L.

She had misjudged him. Oh, how she had misjudged him. Here she had been calling him evil to Harry's good, when in reality it wasn't about good and evil at all – it was about incompetent and brilliant, talentless and gifted, weak and powerful. And who could consent to condescension from a weak, blundering fool when they could be treated as an equal by someone of the finest caliber Hogwarts had ever seen?

She needed to talk to him, to apologize to him for her behaviour. She handed her potions to the proctors with a frenzied look on her face, and then marched towards the Slytherin common room, not puzzling for a moment that she had never known where it was before.


	37. Role Reversal

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** Short chapter, I know, only ¾ the length of what I usually write. But it was complete, and I ran up against one of the things that I am very bad at writing, so... strategic chapter break! One and a half more chapters until the end (the last chapter is short so it only counts for half), and the next chapter is probably my second-favorite in the whole fic! I can't believe I'm this close to making it! Thank you The-Quoi for your review (if I didn't have Ginny hoodwinked, I couldn't do this...). Feedback is always, always appreciated, and I'll see you Monday!

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 37: Role Reversal**

Tom was waiting for her outside the entrance to the common room; or at least, he was waiting for her in the hallway in a remote part of the dungeons that must have been nearly under the lake, and it was just about as cold and unwelcoming a place as Ginny could imagine – hence it was appropriate for the home of Slytherin house. He wore a smirk on his face and was carefully placing a parchment – _the_ parchment, Ginny corrected herself – back into his pocket. Ginny held her chin high as she walked up to him, and thought only about the fact that he hadn't used the parchment for anything malevolent yet, not on what he could potentially do or have done.

When he turned to see her, he wasn't surprised. Ginny didn't expect him to be, but kept her chin up and stared unwaveringly at him, as though she could create a sense of courage that wasn't there by sheer gall. "I thought you were through with terrible people like me," he said with a bit of a scowl, face masked with cold anger.

"You aren't terrible," she answered promptly. She knew it sounded hollow but could think of nothing else to say. "I don't think you're a terrible person."

He laughed bitterly. "Not now, perhaps. But how much of a chance are you really offering? Will you betray me again, as soon as my temper flares? Will you run off to Potter if I show my true colors: proud and self-serving as befits my house? Will you send me to Azkaban for evil thoughts?" he paused for effect, and Ginny had to admit that she didn't think anyone should be sent to Azkaban for _thinking_ something. "You've already turned Judas once - twice; I was a fool to believe you were remorseful. But you're not going to hoodwink me again." He laughed again, and it echoed and bounced around the corridor, ringing in Ginny's ears and making her wince. Perhaps coming here was a bad idea – an outright horrible idea. She schooled her expression to reveal none of it, though. This was a test. It had to be a test. He had helped her on her Potions exam – surely he wouldn't do that and then not forgive her. So he was testing her resolve, or waiting for her to say something, or trying to goad her into exploding again, and she had to retain her cool to figure out what she needed to do. He continued talking. "I should have abandoned you the first time you hid yourself from me. But I gave you a second chance; look where it got me." He stared her in the eye and she shuddered to think that he could read her very soul. He just snorted derisively and looked away. "Of course I can read your mind, Ginevra," he said coldly. "Do you take me for a complete fool?"

"Then you know I'm being honest," she said, trying to sound defensive and angry when really she was shaking in her boots. He didn't look impressed. "You must have at least wanted to talk to me, or you wouldn't be out here in the first place," she pleaded. "And if you really gave up on me, why did you help on my Potions exam? You could have let me fail."

Tom looked up, surprised – he wasn't really surprised, Ginny thought, that she knew. It was probably scrawled all over the parchment he had been reading just a few minutes ago. And there was a flinch in the corner of his mouth that betrayed his real emotion – whatever that was. "You knew?" he asked.

"Who else could have done it, Tom?" She snapped. "Who else would have known about Harry's botched potion? Without you, I would have been too confused to pass my Charms O.W.L., much less Potions."

Tom nodded, in stern agreement, and Ginny would have been offended by his apparently low view of her skill in Potions (and Charms for that matter), but for her penitence and the ease with which she blamed Harry Potter. It wasn't her fault he had botched Felix Felicis. That was his own idiocy.

"Look, Tom," she said, made courageous by the hint of approval in his eyes. "You scared me. That was it, honest. And anyone would have been afraid of those thoughts of yours." She took a deep breath. "But no one should go to Azkaban for something they just think, and I know that, and if I hadn't been so terrified I would have seen sense. But I was terrified, because you were thinking of _making me do things _and, to be honest, I've never really gotten over what happened my first year – who would have, anyway – and so I overreacted. And I got a Professor because I was scared, but I know now that you only made me sit down so I would give you time to calm down before I tried to get you punished for a fit of anger, because everyone has fits of anger and I should know that myself since I have so many, and you only did what you did so I would stop and talk to you rather than rushing to condemn you just like everyone else already has, or had, or whatever, but I didn't realize it then because I was just so frightened, and it was too much like my first year, and so I got even more scared and I called for Hermione, and once Hermione knew she kept an owl-like eye on me so I couldn't back down or give you another chance even when I realized I had been a horrible, immature little girl and should have given you time to calm down and talked to you about it later; I couldn't back down even when I wanted to, because she was always right there and it all happened so fast and McGonagall took the parchment and then I couldn't talk to you anyway, now could I?" Ginny took a ragged breath and chanced a glance up at Tom; he was staring down at her, impassive. She gritted her teeth and continued. "And what I'm trying to say here, what I'm trying to tell you, Tom, is that I've been a complete and total fool and I can see now how horribly I've mistreated you, and please please please accept my apology and I promise that I will never, ever do anything like that ever again. I'll always give you time to calm down and explain, or vent, or whatever you need. It's the least I could do, because you've always done that for me. Just..." she trailed off. He didn't look any more convinced than he had been at the beginning of her rant. She almost lost hope, but forced the words out of her mouth anyway. "Just don't hate me."

He scowled in response. "Stupid Gryffindors and your puerile sentimentality," he scoffed. "What does it matter if I hate you? So long as you are beholden to Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, it is self-defeating for me to trust you. Hatred is too strong an emotion, Ginevra. The word you're looking for is disdain."

He began to turn away, as though disgusted with her, and Ginny could tell half of it was to shield his face so she couldn't see that he wasn't keeping up his mask as well as perhaps he should be – but she couldn't tell what he was trying to hide either, so it was a moot point. He took a step away from her and she cried out, "No!" He stopped, but didn't turn. "I'm not beholden to Harry or Hermione," she insisted almost desperately. "I... I don't do everything they ask of me, and I don't follow them around in awe like I did my first year. Harry is a fool, an incompetent fool who can't even brew a proper Felix Felicis. He's condescending and obnoxious and idiotic and he lives to stroke his own oversized ego." Tom turned to face her, so she continued. "He's self-righteous and just as bigoted as anyone he fights against, but he can't see that about himself and he's such a golden hero in the eyes of the wizarding world that no one else can see it either and they just let him get away with his nonsense. They let him get away with being so-so, and applaud it as talent, they turn a blind eye to his rule-breaking and put him on a pedestal as a model student, they let him be a self-righteous prig and call it modesty, of all things, while the rest of us mortals are meant to bow down and beg his approval, his acceptance, his benevolence." He was staring at her with one eyebrow raised, and this time his thought was clear. Even he hadn't thought of half of those insults against Harry. Well, Ginny figured that she knew Harry Potter a lot better than most people did, and certainly better than Tom Riddle. "You're worth ten of him, Tom," she said. "You're stronger and better in just about every way, and I'm a fool but I've only just now seen it."

Now he was looking at her quizzically. She had almost passed the test, she knew. She was almost there. "Prove it," he said sternly.

That was unexpected. She could only stare at him blankly for a moment, not understanding. "What?" she asked, and his eyes glittered with amusement but she couldn't tell why.

"Prove to me that you've realized Potter's idiocy," he clarified, the smirk he had worn when reading the parchment back on his face. Which told her she had begged and pleaded enough, he was mollified, and this was as much an experiment on his part as a test anymore. He wanted to see what she would say.

Prove that she had realized Potter's idiocy. Surely he was asking her to take some action against Harry, to humiliate him or otherwise make obvious her newfound preference. "Prove to you..." she mumbled, and then trailed off, thinking hard. "Everyone knows it, Tom," she said, because it was true – why did Tom need this to be proven? "Everyone knows you're dedicated and brilliant and talented while Harry skates by on luck and a prayer. Or at least, everyone knows except Harry, and perhaps Ron and Hermione." She laughed at that and reconsidered. "No, even Hermione would agree with that." An idea struck her. He was still smirking, waiting for her to say something. "If I thought it would prove anything, I would duel him, hex his glasses so he couldn't see through them and then cover him with bat bogeys, just for giving me that botched Potion this morning. But that's just childish." His smirk grew wider, and he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, still waiting.

"I could steal his invisibility cloak, and the map of Hogwarts he thinks he's hidden from me, and see how he gets on without his father's old toys. But that wouldn't prove anything either." He looked almost impressed, and in response she almost smiled.

"Really," she said pensively, "The best way to get revenge against Harry Potter, to thoroughly humiliate and hurt him, would be to get between him and Ron and Hermione. He's always miserable when one or another of them isn't talking to him." She suddenly had an amazing, cruel, and almost perfect idea. "I would give Ron and Hermione love potion. Just a bit, to get them over their nerves."

Tom frowned, obviously he didn't understand. She grinned even wider. "Ron and Hermione are mad for each other; everyone in Gryffindor knows it. The only reason they don't abandon him entirely is their preconceived notions of what good friends do. Give them a love potion, make them that much more mad for each other and that much less sensible to everything else, and maybe whisper into Ron's ear how much Hermione simply _loves _Harry. Ron won't talk to Harry _or _Hermione for a week, and by the time that he and Hermione sort it all out, the sheer force of the reunion will push Harry away. He'll be miserable."

Tom scowled. "For how long?" he asked. "Long enough to humiliate him, perhaps. But they won't abandon him completely."

Ginny shook her head. "Harry Potter lives in a constant state of danger. He rarely goes a month without having his life saved by either Hermione or Ron. Besides, if I were to time it right, it would certainly be long enough to have Harry doubting he was even a wizard to begin with. It's happened before, when a house elf stopped his mail for two months. Before my first year; Harry was so desperate for news after just eight weeks that he almost got himself expelled from Hogwarts." Tom's scowl had disappeared again. She let herself smile. "Harry expelled for some stupid worry – Harry Potter finally getting himself into a stupid scrape even his celebrity won't get him out of! He'll be exiled from the Wizarding World, just like Hagrid, and then we can all do what we want and forget about Harry Potter." She laughed, but realized that it wasn't quite enough. "But saying all of that doesn't really prove anything, does it Tom?" she whispered.

Tom's was shocked; his face full of unconcealed pride. But Ginny didn't notice, she was too struck by something she had said to really notice or remark on it. "Forget Harry," she repeated, in a whisper, and she looked at Tom, a carefully guarded expression on her face.

It was crazy, impossible, and ridiculous. It was perhaps the worst idea Ginny Weasley had ever, ever, in an entire lifetime full of bad ideas, thought of. It was worse than naming Ron's owl Pigwidgeon, worse than the singing valentine, worse than blithely picking up that Diary her first year, worse than stealing it back out of Harry's room. It was a fool move that only a total fool would take.

And yet, he stood there, arms crossed, a smirk on his face, as though he expected it. As though he was asking for it. Which made sense, given how this entire months long argument began, but she still couldn't believe that the idea she had just had of how to prove to Tom Riddle that she was through with Harry Potter was anything but a sign of her descent into utter madness.

She took a step towards him.

His smirk faded a bit. "What?" he asked, eyes narrowing in worry.

She had him _worried _now; it was almost absurd in its perfection. How squarely were the tables turned from the beginning of the conversation. She was scaring him; surely he couldn't be scared for Harry's welfare, but his own. Which, Ginny had to admit, didn't make much sense at all, but he had always been rather paranoid.

"Forget Harry Potter," she repeated, just loud enough for him to hear, and the tinges of fear in his face only grew more marked. She screwed up all of her famed Gryffindor courage, and did the unthinkable, the unconscionable, and the outright most insane thing Ginny Weasley could have done.

Ginny Weasley, fully aware of the fact that he was probably a dangerous psychopath well on his way to becoming another You-Know-Who, fully aware that he thought love was a joke (and a bad one at that), fully aware that Hermione, Harry, Ron, and every other Gryffindor student or alumnus that she knew would never forgive her bold-hearted rebellion, and most of all fully aware that it was perhaps the most obvious and demonstrable way to immediately distance herself from her family, her friends, and especially Harry Potter, walked up to Tom Riddle with a glint in her eye, reached up to grab him just behind the ears, stood on her tip toes, and kissed him.

It wasn't long, or deep, or the sort of kiss one would write home about (if one wrote home about kisses, that is); he mostly stood, frozen on the spot, but Ginny could sense, with the feeling of a physical blow to her chest, his icy exterior cracking and the floodgates at the back of her mind opening, almost overwhelming her with emotion.

She ended it quickly and took a step away as much out of shock as anything before the incredible shame and embarrassment could follow upon the realization of what she had just done. She turned away, cheeks burning.

He laughed.

She supposed, in the tiny part of her brain that was still functioning properly, that that was a perfectly fitting response in a literary sense; it sharpened the symbolic reversal. But mostly she just felt the heat of embarrassment in her flushed cheeks, the numbness of shame in her knees, and she hoped she could make it the whole way to the Gryffindor Tower without collapsing. The only thing she knew was that the better she was locked up in her room with the drapes pulled around her four-poster, the better. She tried to run away but found that she couldn't.

There was a pressure around her wrist. She looked down to see his hand.

He had grabbed her wrist. And he held on, as she stopped moving. He put his other hand on her shoulder and took a step towards her and she remembered that she had hated it when he was behind her, the last time he had snuck behind her like that he had almost killed her, but this time he was distinctly warm and human rather than cold and translucent and fringed with ink. She shivered anyway. He whispered into her ear, "The reversal is almost poetic." She shut her eyes tight and told herself that it couldn't possibly be happening, she would wake up and this would all be a bad dream and she would have her Potions O.W.L. to go to. The Potions test almost seemed preferable to this. "Why is it that when I do that, it's comical, but when you do that, it's significant?" he asked, with another chuckle, and let go of her wrist.

"I..." Ginny's throat was still dry from embarrassment and shame. She was still too busy being embarrassed to process what he had said. But he had stopped laughing at her; apparently there was nothing much to be ashamed of. She felt the sweet release and the ground beneath her feet solidified. She had nothing much to be ashamed of. That was something in and of itself. And if that was the case, then she could probably chance to turn around so Tom wouldn't be behind her. She forced a light smile, just in case, and turned around to face him again. He was smirking, but not a bit of disdain or mockery showed in his face. She grinned. "I've had more practice," she settled on for an answer.

"Well," he said, replacing his hands on his shoulders. "Perhaps I need a tutor."


	38. The Battle

Harry Potter awoke, with a searing pain in his scar

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** I am a firm believer in Strong!Ginny, Harry's-Equal!Ginny, and hence Awesome!Ginny. I also think that most sixteen year olds don't grow up or demonstrate their maturity until they're forced to. Hence, for the first time in this fic, and in the penultimate (!) chapter, we see Ginny's true colours. Thank you The-Quoi for your review.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 38: The Battle**

It can be said in Tom's defence that he was a quick study. Ginny was almost losing herself, forgetting that they were in a hallway some short distance from the Slytherin dungeon, when Professor Snape rushed around the corner to see them.

Strike that. Ginny had completely lost herself, and forgotten that Tom had her pinned to the wall of a hallway some short distance from the Slytherin dungeon when Professor Snape rushed around the corner to see them and shouted, in a disgusted voice, "What are you doing?!"

They jumped apart; or rather, Tom jumped away from her. There wasn't really anywhere she could go, so she just stood looking rather shocked and rather guilty.

For a moment, she was disappointed it was over.

Then the circumstances sunk in, and she was more than just rather guilty. She stared at the floor. "There's been an attack! Get to your common rooms!" Snape shouted, perhaps temporarily forgetting his hatred for the two students he had found snogging in the hallways. They, however, hadn't forgotten that quite yet, and stood waiting for him to take points away from Gryffindor or assign detentions. "Immediately!" he shouted instead, and then rushed away.

Ginny stood rooted to the spot for a bit longer and then what Snape said hit her. "Attack?" she said.

She could hear distant shouting and explosions. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs. There was an attack; a real attack, with real fighting. Voldemort was attacking the school. Voldemort was attacking the school and she had been hiding in a dungeon and snogging Tom Riddle! "Oh no," she gasped, "Harry!" and she rushed towards the ominous sounds.

There were footsteps behind her. She turned to see Tom chasing after her. Well, at least she knew for absolute certain now that he wasn't up to anything; he had an alibi for where he was when Voldemort attacked the school. Of course, it wasn't quite an alibi that she was sure she wanted to share with anyone just yet. She was almost in shock over it herself; appalled that she would do something like that. She didn't want to know what Ron or Harry would say about it. Or her mother, for that matter; Mrs. Weasley would have a fit. Best not to think about that, Ginny decided. There was a battle; Voldemort was attacking the school, and if Ginny didn't hurry she would be too late and Harry would be dead and she would be no help whatsoever. Ginny reached the Great Hall, but the shouts and explosions were still coming from above her. She paused for a moment, and Tom had caught up with her. "They're coming from the Chamber!" he shouted, rounding the corner and running to another staircase, and she followed him.

The corridors on the second floor were in disarray. The walls were pockmarked with signs of curses gone awry, some of them crumbling and covering the floor with dust and pebbles. Doors hung on single hinges, portraits were slashed and singed, and groups of students crouched against the walls, clustered around injured friends and sobbing or cringing out of fear. There had obviously been a fight, but it had moved. "Where did they go?" Ginny asked, now hearing the sounds of battle all around her.

One first year held out a trembling finger, and another mumbled "Towards the girls' bathroom," fearfully. Ginny didn't even stay to comfort them, just shouted for them to go to the Hospital Wing as she raced towards the battle. Of course the girls' bathroom. That had been what Tom said; they were coming from the Chamber. He was probably already there. She ran as fast as she could down the corridor, paying attention only to avoiding clusters of students and not tripping as she ran, and reached the battle just as Harry noticed Tom at the periphery.

The invasion party was small. Apparently Voldemort thought only a few Death Eaters were necessary to take Hogwarts – or maybe he didn't want to take Hogwarts in its entirety but simply kill Harry or Dumbledore with only minor casualties. Maybe this was supposed to be mostly covert. For much of the year, Ginny reasoned, it had been. Who knew how many times Voldemort had wandered the halls in secret and not left a gloating message? Probably more than Ginny cared to think about. But however many times he had gotten in undetected before, this time the staff been forewarned. And whatever his plan, the Hogwarts Profesors found him and his Death Eaters, and he had not been successful. At least, not yet. Snape was absent, predictably, but the rest of the heads of house were present and joining in the fray. Ginny couldn't find Hermione or Ron in the battle and figured that most heads of house had sent prefects to gather students in their dormitories, but Malfoy and Parkinson hadn't been forthcoming. It would figure for Malfoy to hide like a dog when his father invaded Hogwarts under Voldemort's banner; or at least not to help with the resistance.

Ginny couldn't blame him, though: it would be horrible to fight against your own family. She couldn't imagine opposing her mother, at least not about something like being a Death Eater. In the corner of her eye she could see McGonagall stun a woman with long black hair and sallow skin, but she was too lost to move. A curse rocked the floor underneath her feet and shook Ginny out of her reverie as Hagrid pounded in, sounding for everything like an elephant, curses bouncing off of his skin as though he were as tough as a dragon. "Professor!" he bellowed, and Ginny ripped her eyes away from his huge frame and turned her attention to what he was looking at.

It was where Tom was staring as well; Voldemort facing both Harry and Dumbledore at once. Ginny should have expected that. Harry was hardly doing anything, to be honest, and as Voldemort and Dumbledore set up flames and sparks in their battle, Harry looked more dumbstruck and concerned than fierce and determined. It figured. Harry wasn't any better at duelling than the rest of them; although he put up a valiant front and had his wand pulled and trained on You-Know-Who, his disarming curses and stunning spells weren't hard for a wizard like Voldemort to dodge. Harry was behaving in a typically Harry manner. But when she looked at Tom, struck stupid with fear and loathing, she frowned. Tom was too clever and too proud to be caught with that look on his face, and too quick not to notice the thick-set Death Eater a few yards to the left of him who had stunned Professor Flitwick and was turning to him.

Ginny ran up and pushed Tom out of the way of the curse, wand ready, rolled on the floor to dodge the curse herself and then turned to Tom's attacker and shouted the first thing that came to her head: _"Stupefy!" _ The Death Eater was caught by the stunning spell, and fell to the ground. Tom didn't even glance back to see who had saved him or thank her; he rushed towards Voldemort and Harry and Dumbledore.

Ginny didn't have time to notice what he was doing or follow him; she was surrounded by battle. She narrowly dodged a curse she had never even heard before, and turned on her opponent, a tall, reed-like man with scars on his arms and hands. _"Reducto!" _she shouted, and missed, blowing apart some of the wall behind him; it came down in crumbling bits. She felt someone grab her from behind and called out a revulsion jinx. With a flash of purple light, the second Death Eater was thrown behind her, and she took the moment to shout _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ and freeze the Death Eater in front of her before whirling around and casting a much darker curse on the burly Death Eater that had grabbed her. She turned to the Professors, who were conjuring ropes to bind defeated Death Eaters. She followed suit.

And then there was a horrible cackle from some distance down the hallway. Ginny froze, not quite done with her conjuring. It hardly mattered. "Even the three of you together are no match for me!" Ginny turned slowly to see Voldemort cornering Harry, Tom, and Dumbledore. Everyone was wary, everyone had wands drawn, but Tom looked like he was drowning in his own fear – no Gryffindor, that one – Harry was clutching his side in pain and Dumbledore looked much greyer than usual, his eyes had lost their usual sparkle. "And now I get to decide which of you dies first," he said, and cackled with an abnormally high-pitched laugh. Tom gulped. He actually gulped. He was breaking out in a cold sweat, his wand shaking in his hand. Harry stood up a little bit straighter, ready to face death. Dumbledore had no reaction.

Ginny froze, only for a moment, caught by Voldemort's too-high cackle. It wasn't an old man's laugh. It was an eleven-year-old girl's laugh, she realized, twisted. That wasn't Tom's laugh; it was _hers,_ although almost unrecognizable through the malice. Everyone else was transfixed by the sight before their eyes, Voldemort about to kill Harry Potter, but Ginny was struck not by the fear of what was going to happen but by the single thought, _"He stole my laugh."_ As Voldemort laughed again, Ginny flinched and shuddered and sprung into action. That man, that evil monster, had stolen her trust, and her innocence, and her childhood, and her _laugh_. And, just like everyone else in the school and the world and perhaps the universe, he thought she was just a foolish little girl who could be robbed and abused and forgotten and wouldn't come back to get her revenge. Or would be far too weak to even try.

She didn't see Harry or Tom or Dumbledore or any of the professors, didn't see McGonagall try to stop her as she stalked towards Voldemort. She only saw the monster that had stolen her childhood and her laugh, taken her innocence and twisted it into malice and hatred, and forced her to open the Chamber of Secrets her first year. He hadn't finished his next word when she bellowed out, _"Sectumsempra!" _and jerked her wand in a slashing motion. The word bounced and echoed around the hallway, and Voldemort actually stumbled forward, a slash appearing in the side of his robes, dark blood dripping from pale skin beneath. He whirled on her and trained his wand on her, but she didn't allow herself to think of her impending death, she just shouted _"Expelliarmus!" _as loud and as forcefully as she could, hoping that if she drowned out his killing curse it wouldn't take effect. Then she dropped to the floor and rolled to the side, head up and eyes wide with the vague hopes that he would miss but ready to face her death bravely.

But the green flash never came. Instead, Voldemort's wand shot out of his hand and she reached up desperately and caught it. Everyone was staring at her, in various parts awe and disbelief. Her heart was racing. That was impossible, even for someone with the bravery and stubbornness and gall of Ginevra Molly Weasley. She heard rapid footsteps behind her, and decided it would be wonderfully ironic if a junior Death Eater killed her after she had disarmed the _Dark Lord_, but she heard her brother's voice. "Ginny!" he shouted, obviously terrified for her. Snape returned, and immediately went to the weakened Dumbledore's side. Ginny wished one of the boys would finish the job, but Harry and Tom were both just staring at her, Harry's mouth hanging open in shock. She was just staring at Voldemort, who was staring at her, and all of a sudden it felt like her head was going to explode.

_He's a Legilimens,_ she reminded herself, and thought back to the sickening moment in the Department of Mysteries last year when he had possessed Harry. She closed her eyes and shut off her mind, focusing only on holding on to the two wands in her hands and standing up. It proved difficult enough, holding on to her wand and rising to her feet while fighting a sheer war of willpower with Voldemort himself, but she reminded herself that Harry had been more stubborn than the Dark Lord when he duelled out _Priori Incantatem _in the graveyard at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, and she would be damned if Harry Potter was more stubborn than a Weasley. She could feel him pushing, trying the same trick he had tried on Harry last year, trying to make her release her grip on the wand, but she pushed right back, as hard as she could, and there was one important difference between Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter.

Ginny Weasley may have been possessed by Lord Voldemort when she was eleven, but at age sixteen she was much older, much stronger, and damned good at Occlumency.

She pushed. She focused; held on to both her wand and the Dark Lord's. She stood up. She looked him straight in the face, and the pain was almost too hard to bear, but she focused through it and gritted her teeth and said, through them, "Not this time."

And the pain began to lessen. She held out her wand with shaking fingers. She knew what she was supposed to do. She knew what she had to do; what Harry had to do, really, because that was what was prophesied, but he was staring and gaping like a small child and there was Voldemort, standing in front of her, without a wand and unable to use his Legilimency, and it was obvious, painfully obvious, distressingly and terribly obvious, what she had to do. She formed the words on her lips: Avada Kedavra.

She opened her mouth, ready to say it, and then closed her mouth at the last moment and closed her eyes in fear and shame and resolution. She had won, but even if she had won, or perhaps because she had won, she just couldn't do it.

No matter how horrible he was, no matter that he had killed so many and ruined the lives of so many more, no matter that he wasn't even rightly human, no matter any of that – she simply couldn't do it. Couldn't raise her wand and utter those words.

They may have been necessary, but they were unforgivable for a reason.

But fortunately, or unfortunately, she didn't have time to try a second time. While Ginny stalled, Lucius Malfoy (he was unmistakable with his long blonde hair) was at his Lord's side, and both of them disapparated.

The rest of the Death Eaters, or those that were conscious, followed suit. It should have been impossible – there was no apparating to or from Hogwarts grounds. The Professors exchanged worried glances, but no one said anything. "You can't apparate on Hogwarts grounds," Hermione said from behind her. "What just happened?"

"It would appear," Professor Quinn said from beside the door to the second floor girls' bathroom, "That some of the wards have been disrupted. I would guess the problems are localized to this immediate area, as I have made examinations of the perimeter wards and they are all functional."

Hermione seemed to accept this. Ginny finally began breathing again. She had disarmed the Dark Lord. She was holding his wand. She had refused to let him possess her. And somehow, miraculously and impossibly, she was alive. She didn't believe it. She sunk to the floor, knees buckling, and she let both wands clatter to the floor beside her. "Ginny," she heard Hermione's voice behind her, confused, "Why do you have two wands?"

Harry was still gaping. Tom was trying to school his expression, but failing. Dumbledore looked at her, and a bit of the old twinkle was back in his eyes. Snape's head snapped up and he looked at her for a moment in complete and total awe before he turned back to tending the Headmaster's wounds. No one, least of all Ginny, could turn to Hermione and Ron and explain to them what happened. McGonagall slowly walked up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right, Miss Weasley?" she asked. Ginny nodded, feeling tears of relief or shock or whatever it was she was feeling coming to her face. "That was very foolish of you," she said a bit sternly, "But incredibly brave," she added, "And certainly the best display of duelling strength I have ever seen in a fifth year student. I am confident the rest of the Professors would agree," she concluded. More than a little bit of pride came through in her voice.

"Did she..." Ron trailed off; he couldn't form the words _duel You-Know-Who_. "Is that You-Know-Who's wand?" he said, after a few moments of incoherent babbling. Ginny mutely nodded her head.

"Gin..." he began again, and then looked to Harry and to Hermione and to McGonagall and Dumbledore, stuttering and mumbling. "My baby sister just beat _You-Know-Who _in a duel?" Ginny nodded again. "_Merlin_," he said, the realization knocking the wind out of her, "Just wait until mum hears about this!"

McGonagall jumped into action then, whirling on Ron and Hermione and ordering them to get the other prefects to help transport wounded students to the Hospital Wing. Hermione grabbed Ron's wrist and they disappeared down the hall, but as they passed her Ginny could see Hermione look down at her with an amazed expression. "You should go to the Hospital Wing as well, Miss Weasley," McGonagall said gently. "Are you wounded?" Ginny shook her head. "Well, just in case then." She held out a hand for Ginny to take, and Ginny grabbed both wands from the floor before she accepted McGonagall's hand and stood. "Also, Miss Weasley," McGonagall said in an undertone, "I don't believe, after that display, that anyone would deny you a job as an Auror, regardless of your Potions marks."

Ginny barely heard her Professor through the rushing in her ears.

She slowly walked towards the Hospital Wing, still numb and shocked. Madam Pomfrey dropped everything she was doing when she saw Ginny with a dazed expression standing on her threshold, and shuttled the exhausted and shocked Gryffindor to a free bed, wrapping her up and telling her sternly to stay where she was before leaving in a flutter. Ginny didn't even think about moving.

Tom was the first one to appear by her bedside, followed shortly by Harry. "Why didn't you kill him?" Tom asked. "Why did you stop at the last moment?"

Ginny couldn't quite answer him, she just stared. "Have you ever killed someone?" she asked. Tom shook his head blankly. "Neither have I," she said bluntly. "I didn't want to change that. Besides," she said quietly, "It's unforgiveable for a reason."

Tom rolled his eyes. "He's a monster," he said. "He deserves to die."

That's when Harry chimed in. "But that doesn't mean _she _has to be the one who kills him," he said softly. "You okay, Gin?" he asked.

Ginny nodded. "A little shocked, is all."

Harry laughed. "I think we all are." He shook his head and put a hand over hers. "You were amazing," he said, and looked at her meaningfully, glancing sidelong at Tom.

Tom crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "I certainly didn't expect you to overpower the Dark Lord," he said sourly. "But you should have killed him."

Ginny ignored Tom's latter comment, but Harry bristled. "Look, it was prophesied that _I _would kill You-Know-Who; it's not Ginny's job. You should be happy she came to rescue us."

Tom snorted. "You sure were doing a bang-up job of killing him back there."

"You were worse, Tom," Ginny said matter-of-factly. "Stop fighting, both of you. I would think that fighting You-Know-Who and surviving was the sort of thing that you can't go through without becoming friends." She sighed. "Or at least forming a sort of grudging respect for one another. Harry, stop trying to be all strong and heroic. You're making a fool of yourself. And Tom, stop trying to be ruthless and cold-hearted. You were shaking so hard you couldn't cast a single curse in that battle, and I don't believe you could kill someone if you tried. You only stayed because You-Know-Who had you cornered." She pulled her hand out from under Harry's, and Tom's expression softened minutely. "Now, Harry, you see Madam Pomfrey about your side. And both of you leave me alone; I'm on strict orders to rest until Madam Pomfrey comes back."

The two boys shuffled away, not without a few glances back towards Ginny, and Ginny was alone. She closed her eyes and tried very hard not to think about what had happened. Madam Pomfrey appeared a few minutes later, and declared that she was mostly healthy, but didn't give her permission to leave the hospital wing until a healer from St. Mungo's had come and examined her head and given her a clean bill of health. Ginny nodded and fell back against the pillow and just drifted off into her own thoughts.

She had proved herself, she thought. It was conclusive; she had done what Harry and Tom and even Dumbledore couldn't; she had brought You-Know-Who to his knees. Admittedly, she had only been able to do so because he had let down his guard, ignored her, dismissed her as a small girl and a child and incapable of doing anything to harm him. It was mostly luck. But she had done it nonetheless. And that was something to celebrate and to rejoice, and it was certainly a reason to let herself relax.


	39. Epilogue: Honor

**Disclaimer:** This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon when writing this chapter.

**Author's Note:** A short epilogue, conclusion, and who knows what else. Sorry if it's too fluffy, or too inconclusive, or too... I don't know what. But it did seem the most appropriate. Thank you to SaintRidley and The-Quoi for your reviews, and thank you to everyone who has read this far. I'm honestly amazed that I actually got to the point of posting this, and that's all due to the people who have reviewed along the way and my good friends at the S.S. Gin'n'Tonic.

**Expectations of Grandeur: Epilogue: Honor**

When she got out of the hospital wing four days later, Ginny Weasley made her way straight to the Great Hall. She strode into the room, robes swirling behind her, and quite a few people looked up and stared at the strange figure she cut – small, undeniably powerful, mostly calm but very, very angry. She could see a bit of fear in the eyes of some of the Hufflepuff first years, and a begrudging respect from even the most stuck up and stubborn of Slytherin seventh years. Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked up expectantly – where else could she be expected to go than to sit with them? But she strode directly to the Slytherin table and decisively sat down across from Tom.

He raised both his eyebrows. The fact that he had fought against, and almost been killed by, Lord Voldemort, had put him on the outs with most of his Slytherin compatriots (although it would almost certainly be different had the boy defeated the Dark Lord), and he was sitting in relative isolation on the Slytherin table. "You're making a scene," he said simply.

"So what if I am?" She hissed angrily.

"What are you angry about now?" he asked, and he seemed to be confused and frustrated more than anything. "Surely no one is treating you like a powerless child anymore?"

Ginny laughed. "I had a lot of time to think while I was waiting in the Hospital Wing," she said. He was silent. "And I did a lot of thinking about what happened... during my Potions O.W.L." He still said nothing, but he looked back down to pick at the food on his plate, so Ginny could tell that she was on to something. "You didn't just help me on my O.W.L., Tom, did you?"

He glared up at her, confident. "No," he admitted. "I didn't."

"You tried to make me hate Harry," she said.

"If that was true, it was obviously a failure," he replied simply.

"You tried to make me dislike Harry," she insisted.

Tom shrugged. "So? I can try to convince you that he's a useless fool as much as I want – it's up to you whether to listen to me or not."

Ginny glared daggers at him. "Don't trifle with me, Tom," she bit. "You used a confusing concoction and the parchments to try to brainwash me into hating Harry."

Tom was still meeting her eyes, and the truth flickered behind them before he set down his fork. "So what if I did? Obviously, you don't hate Harry. And the confusing concoction didn't have repercussions on your potions marks. So what are you upset about?"

"You needled your way into my mind! You made me want to hex Harry! I would never think any of those things without you putting those thoughts in my head!" She fumed.

Tom snorted. "I pointed out that Potter is more harm than he's worth, but your reaction to that information was entirely your own. I didn't put any plans for revenge into your head; neither hexing Potter nor your more... creative ideas."

Ginny flushed. She didn't know if he was telling the truth or not. But he didn't _look _like he was lying, and he had never been very good at acting. It wasn't worth arguing over. "Destroy the parchments," she said simply.

"No," he said in response. He looked back down at his plate, picked up his fork, and took a bite.

"Tom," Ginny whispered. "Do not mess with me. In case you had forgotten, I saved you from being blown to bits by You-Know-Who a few days ago." He paused in his chewing, and gulped down his food. "And I saw how useless you were in a battle – a true Slytherin; ambitious, cunning, clever, and absolutely incapable of conquering their fears." Ginny laughed. "Harry did better than you, Tom." She laughed again. "In fact, Harry at age twelve did better than you did just last year, if memory serves correctly."

"Harry had help."

"Harry wasn't a coward."

Tom glared at her. "Don't test me, Ginevra," he said.

She laughed. "You should take your own advice," she answered. He looked back at his food, and didn't say anything. "Destroy the parchments," she repeated.

"How do you know I have both of them?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not that foolish – you only need yours to do anything, of course, but you needed to steal the pair so you could replace it with a pair; otherwise Dumbledore could write on one and notice it didn't bleed through to the other."

Tom frowned. "How did you figure that out?"

"I've been hanging around you too much, it would seem," she said quickly. "Destroy the parchments, Tom," she repeated after a pause.

"You're not going to give this up, are you?" he asked sullenly.

"No," she replied, her voice flat.

He looked up at her as though he wanted to argue the point, but was interrupted by the sneering voice of Draco Malfoy. "You're turning into a real Gryffindor, Marvolo," he sneered. "Maybe you should go sit with Potter and his cronies."

Ginny spun in her seat and fixed Malfoy with a glare that could kill. The boy edged away, fumbling with his wand. Ginny stood up calmly and looked at Malfoy with what she hoped was mature kindness. "I'm sorry that your father is going to go to Azkaban, Malfoy. It must be really hard to live with his mistakes."

Malfoy just stared, and Ginny ignored him and looked toward Tom. "You heard me. Do it, Tom," she said quietly, and then walked over to sit by herself at the Gryffindor table.

No matter how much she told herself she should, she simply couldn't bring herself to sit by Harry and Ron and Hermione. Because she knew that this episode wouldn't change their relationship in the slightest – Harry would go back to being the hero, they would go back to being his best friends, and she would go back to being the spunky and determined younger sister who was a good witch but a peripheral character in the grand story of Harry Potter's battle against Voldemort. It wasn't worth putting herself through it.

And throughout the year, she had so grown apart from her roommates that it was almost like they had all disappeared on her. She didn't expect they would welcome her back with open arms; they would think she had snubbed them, and maybe she had. They would think she should just be friends with Harry and her brother and the other heroes.

Ginny shrugged and loaded up her plate with food. Meals in the hospital wing were good, but carefully balanced and portioned for people on the mend: not nearly enough food for someone accustomed to Molly Weasley's cooking. She supposed she would have to get used to being plain old Ginny Weasley, and if Harry Potter or Hermione Granger or her brother Ron cared to notice that she was worth befriending, well, that would be good enough for Ginny.

After all, she could stop - had stopped - the Dark Lord right in his tracks, and not many people could say that.

The castle was silent. The other students had all gone home on the Hogwarts Express, for summer holidays and fun with friends. Tom stared into the fire in the Slytherin common room; even though it was warm and sunny outside it was cool and dank in the common room and needed a fire lit to keep it at all hospitable. He sighed. Perhaps this was what Harry Potter felt like every summer; tired from another year of fighting against Lord Voldemort, facing another three months of bleak loneliness and being stuck in his own thoughts.

But no, Tom thought; Harry Potter had the Weasleys to break his solitude and his thoughts. And Tom just had the cool, dank, empty Slytherin common room. Tom snorted and pulled two parchments from his robe pocket. He held them out before him. Ginny was having a wonderful time on the Hogwarts Express, playing exploding snap with her brother and Hermione and, predictably, Harry. Hermione and Ron were going to leave soon for Prefect duties, which would leave Ginny alone with Harry, and she was surprisingly calm and unemotional about that prospect.

And then, suddenly, the parchment went blank and one sentence appeared: "Destroy the parchments, Tom."

Tom sighed, and tossed the parchments into the fire, watching the admonishment fade into ash.

He had been shown up, in the worst possible way, by a girl – a girl a year younger than him, and a girl in Gryffindor.

It was, honestly, humiliating.

But Dumbledore had ignored all of that, and had invited Tom to stay over the summer to repair the wards that had been broken by Voldemort in his attack. He was to be on a level with the Hogwarts Professors. Tom still was, and Dumbledore would proudly admit this, one of the best students Hogwarts had ever seen. And Tom supposed that he would have to be content with that, and the rest of it would come with time.


End file.
